by Bella Andre
And still wanting her, just as fiercely as he had when she'd been in his arms.
He’d finally fallen asleep a little after four, and he’d awakened again soon after with the sound of her laughter playing through his memory and the sweet taste of her still on his tongue. But it was her smile, and the way her eyes had radiated happiness like beacons in the night, that had brought him down to her cottage at the ungodly hour of six in the morning to deliver a hangover remedy.
He'd been compelled to also leave her with a reminder of him that wouldn’t be easily forgotten. Because he sure as hell hadn't been able to forget her.
He’d grabbed the candle and a pack of matches, and he’d sat on her porch while he’d made the champagne bottle into a candleholder just like he and his siblings had done when they were kids, under the watchful eyes of their mother. It had taken twenty minutes, but he hadn’t minded a second of it. It was such a strange feeling, wanting to do something like that instead of picking up where he’d left off with his work the night before like he normally would have.
Now, though they were about to meet with their grandfather and it was sure to be a tense meeting, he was surprised by the smile on his face from just thinking about Shelley. Unfortunately, in a few minutes he’d need to push those thoughts away and focus completely on the issue at hand, whatever the hell that was. Yet again he wished his grandfather had been less cagey about why he’d needed to have Quinn and his four siblings back on the island today for this meeting.
Quinn eyed the bandage on Derek’s forearm. The most adventurous of them all, Derek was an adrenaline junkie at heart. His love of risk came second only to his love of creating things with his hands. Derek was a custom builder and stonemason and ran a very successful business in Boston. He’d gone on a caving expedition with a group of his buddies last week, and one of his spring-loaded camming devices failed. He’d caught the sharp edge of the wall with his forearm, leaving a four-inch gash that had to be stitched up.
“How’re the stitches?”
Derek shrugged. “Barely notice them.”
Quinn shook his head, knowing it had to be throbbing. But given that Derek had injured himself so many times, Quinn thought his brother was probably telling the truth that he didn’t even notice the stitched-up gash.
“Where’d you stay last night?” Trent asked Derek. “They said you never checked in to the suite Chandler booked for you.”
“I wasn’t going to let him pull all the strings.” Derek flashed a crooked grin. “I stayed at my cabin.” Years ago he’d bought a rustic cabin in the woods, and he clearly preferred roughing it to staying in plush luxury that came with strings attached.
“Your cabin?” Ethan laughed. His thick, wavy hair was unkempt from an early-morning fishing expedition. He ran the biggest fishery in the area, and lived and breathed for life on the water. “That thing isn’t fit to live in. There isn’t even a bed.”
Derek rolled his eyes and paced. He got restless if he stayed in one place for too long. “Unlike you pansies, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag.” He peered down into the hall toward Chandler’s office. “Where is he? First he mandates that the three of us return to the island, pulls Ethan off his boat, totally negates Dad—who has given his whole life to this frigging place—and Sierra by not even inviting them to the meeting. And now he’s late?”
“I saw him from the window coming up from the beach a minute ago,” Ethan said. “He’s on his fourth private nurse, Didi. From what I’ve seen, though, she’s got a strong will. He fired his last three nurses within days of hiring them. So far she holds the record for lasting the longest, and she shows promise of being able to put up with Chandler.”
“Well, good luck to her.” Derek checked his watch. “So you think it’s true what Dad told you this morning? That Chandler’s going to try to get us to take over the resort?”
Ethan nodded. “He said that’s his hunch.”
Quinn exchanged an incredulous glance with Trent. As the two eldest, they’d taken the brunt of the heat from their grandfather’s disappointment in their avoidance of the family business, buffering the others. But there wasn’t enough buffering in the world to take the sting out of Chandler’s stern demeanor.
“He can’t seriously think we’re going to walk away from the businesses we’ve busted our asses building so we can take over for a man who treats his own son like garbage, can he?” Fire ran through Quinn’s veins. “And even if he did think that, why would he come to us? Dad runs the show here. We all know that.”
“Damn right,” Derek agreed. “Without Dad this place would have tanked ages ago. He cleans up all of Chandler’s messes, and I’ll tell you what. He’s a better man than me, because there’s no way I’d be able to put up with Chandler for all these years. Dad’s a saint.”
Trent crossed his arms over his white dress shirt. His hair was perfectly combed, his suit pressed, his shoes shined. He obviously expected to leave the island after the meeting and be back in New York in time to get on with his law practice. He’d always been the voice of reason, the peacemaker, and Quinn could tell by the way he was looking at them that he was already slipping into mediator mode.
“I’m concerned about why Sierra and Dad aren’t here, too,” Trent said. “But we should hear Chandler out, play it cool, and then figure out our next step as a group. There’s no need to get up in arms while he’s in the room. The man just had his second heart attack. We don’t need to be the cause of a third.”
Quinn heard voices in the hall and motioned for the others, alerting them just before Chandler appeared in the doorway in his wheelchair, with a tall, attractive blonde standing behind him.
Chandler’s face was stoic as his dark eyes moved over each of them. “Trent. Quinn. Derek. Ethan. Please, have a seat.” He gripped the arms of the wheelchair tightly as Didi brought him to the head of the large conference table.
Even from the confines of the wheelchair he sucked all the air from the room. Not to mention that he had the audacity not to introduce Didi. Chandler hadn’t changed in the months since Quinn had last been home. He wore the same brittle frown as he always had.
Trent smiled at Chandler’s nurse. “You must be Didi. Ethan speaks very highly of you. I’m Trent.”
“Trent, it’s a pleasure.” Her Greek heritage was evident in the inflection of her voice. Her eyes flitted to Derek, lingering for a moment before dropping back down to her charge.
Trent leaned down and hugged Chandler, who remained rigid, hands glued to the cold metal chair. “Grandfather, it’s nice to see you. You look well.” While Chandler always insisted on being formally addressed, their grandmother had been warm and affectionate and had loved being called Grandma Caroline. Quinn had never understood how the two had ended up together.
Chandler grumbled something indiscernible as Trent followed his command and sat in one of the leather seats across from where Derek and Quinn stood, waiting their turn to properly greet the man who had never seemed to welcome or want affection. Their parents had raised them to always respect their elders, so they showed their love to family whether they asked for it or not.
Quinn greeted Didi, then placed a hand on his grandfather’s forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze before leaning down for a brief embrace that was not returned.
“Grandfather.”
Chandler only nodded in return.
Quinn sat next to Trent while Derek held on to Didi’s hand just a little too long as he shook it. “Didi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Derek.”
As her cheeks flushed, Chandler gruffly told Derek to sit down, while Quinn, Trent, and Ethan all stifled smiles. Derek and Ethan said quick greetings to their grandfather, then took their seats, giving him the floor.
When they were all seated, Chandler said, “Didi, the papers,” in his gruff, deep voice.
“Yes, Mr. Rockwell.” She moved with grace as she handed each of them a thick document before returning silently to her place behind Cha
ndler’s chair and professionally averting her gaze to the window.
Derek’s eyes trailed Didi around the table, and Quinn had to nudge his brother’s knee beneath the table to bring his attention back to the document before him.
Quinn quickly scanned the document, anger brewing hotter with every word he read. He could tell by the tightening of Trent’s jaw and his grip on the papers that his peacekeeping brother was doing all he could to remain calm.
“Grandfather.” Trent’s tone was harsher than usual but calmer than anything out of Quinn’s mouth would have been. “What exactly is your intention with this document?”
Chandler held his chin high, his dark gaze steady, unflappable. Clearly, his second heart attack hadn’t softened him one bit.
“The terms are clear,” Chandler said. “You and your brothers are to move back to the island and take over the resort. Rockwell Island will be your primary residence for at least ninety-five percent of the next calendar year. If you choose not to accept the terms of this agreement, I have a multinational business lined up to purchase the resort. They will overhaul the island, making it into a high-rise mecca, complete with their own staff.”
Derek smacked his palm on the table. “You can’t give us an ultimatum and expect us to upend our entire lives and our businesses in an instant and threaten to sell the property that’s been in the family for generations if we don’t do exactly as you say.” He rose and paced as he asked, “And what about Dad? What about Sierra?”
Chandler’s expression didn’t change; nor did he respond.
“Why now?” Quinn asked. “Why the four of us?”
“I’m eighty-four years old, and my health has not been as strong as it once was.” Chandler’s tone was even and emotionless. “You are my heirs, and the resort should be your responsibility.”
“With all due respect, Grandfather, our father is your heir. He’s the one who should inherit this business.” Ethan’s voice was as calm as their grandfather’s. He was the strong, silent type and was usually willing to yield to his grandfather’s unreasonable demands out of respect. His speaking up should show Chandler how strongly he felt about their father being passed over, but that assumed Chandler would care.
Their grandfather narrowed his eyes. “That’s my decision, and it’s been made.”
Derek’s narrow-eyed expression mirrored their grandfather’s. “Only you would expect me, Trent, and Quinn to give up everything we’ve worked so hard to build even though you know we can’t just walk away from our businesses for a year and expect them to survive. Quinn has a shipping empire that mandates daily oversight. Trent has an entire legal practice to run. And I have more than a hundred employees, contractors, and clients depending on my masonry and building company.”
Trent cocked his head and set his elder-brother stare on Derek, indicating that he needed to get control of himself.
Derek turned away from them all, muttering a curse. One Quinn agreed with wholeheartedly.
“I’ll be reading over this document with a fine-tooth comb this evening,” Trent said in a remarkably even voice, one Quinn knew he’d honed from years of being the best lawyer in the business. “What is your deadline on our decision?”
“One week from today, seven a.m.” Their grandfather clutched the arms of his wheelchair again. “Didi.”
“Yes, sir.” Her soft, apologetic gaze swept over the brothers—“Gentlemen”—before she wheeled their grandfather from the office.
Chapter Five
SHELLEY HAD BREAKFAST at the resort and spent an hour reading through brochures of the amenities the island had to offer while staff members stopped by to give their two cents about places to visit and things to do. At her coffee shop, one of her favorite things to do was talk with the customers. Anyone could see that the resort staff felt the same way. Another hotel guest struck up a conversation about sailing lessons, which Shelley immediately signed up for. By midafternoon she was having fantasies about what it would be like to live on the warm, friendly island full-time.
After breakfast she set out on foot to explore the nearby town, silently thanking Quinn for the Motrin. She followed a group of window-shopping tourists along pristine sidewalks lined with manicured flowerbeds to the town center. The town center had a turnabout with a courtyard in the center, complete with iron benches, tall trees, and a dark, cedar-sided tourist information center.
Already enthralled by the island, Shelley went inside the information center to make sure she didn’t miss anything Rockwell Island had to offer. A gray-haired woman smiled up at her from behind the information desk, where she sat with a phone pressed to her ear. There were even more brochures here than there were in the resort, and on the wall to the right, a mass of photographs were thumbtacked to a corkboard, immediately drawing Shelley’s attention. There were pictures of children holding up handmade signs announcing various events: the Rockwell Wine Festival, a book fair, a 10K race, and more. Other pictures included photographs of men and women with large fish and wide smiles, and quite a few wedding pictures, too.
“Hello there.” The woman moved from behind the desk and joined Shelley by the pictures. “I call this our brag wall.” She had warm, deep-set gray-blue eyes, and her face was mapped with lines that told of lots of sun and smiles.
A brag wall for the town? I love that.
Shelley scanned the wall, then focused on a picture of a lanky teenager on a sailboat. His eyes looked strikingly familiar. “Are these island residents?”
“Why, yes. I call all the youngsters here on the island my grandchildren. I think I have hundreds now.” She laughed. “See this handsome man with the large fish? That’s Ethan Rockwell. I’ve known him since he was yay high.” She held her hand up just above her knees. “And Quinn on his sailboat? That’s one of my favorites.” She pointed to the picture of the lanky teen Shelley had been admiring.
Quinn grew up on the island. Shelley’s pulse quickened all over again from memory of the kiss they’d shared. She worked to pay attention as the woman pointed out and named several more residents, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the photograph of Quinn. His eyes were wide with excitement in the picture, one long arm holding the mast of the boat, the other waving to whoever took the picture. The boy she saw in the picture was a far cry from the broad and muscular man she’d met last night.
A family came into the visitors’ center, and the woman touched Shelley’s arm. “My name is Eleanor. Please come back and see me sometime. I’ll show you more pictures. I replace them every few months, except for my favorites, which stay up for years.”
Shelley meandered into Books by the Bay next, where she bought the newest romance novel by her favorite author. Then she stopped into Taylor’s Treasures, a souvenir shop, where she bought an island key chain. Farther down the road a cheerful yellow sign with red letters caught her eye. Annabelle’s.
Annabelle’s was a clothing shop that had hardwood floors and effervescent blue walls trimmed with dark stained wood. There were two tables out front with lovely soft shirts and lightweight cardigans. Shelley happily began to look through racks of pretty summer dresses along the far wall. She’d never been a clotheshorse, but she wanted one of everything in this boutique.
“Hi. Is there something I can help you find?”
Shelley turned at the soft voice and was met with a pretty, petite blonde with big blue eyes and a wide smile. “I’m just looking. But everything is gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Some of the clothing is from specialty designers in New York and Boston, but I love working with local designers most of all.”
“Are you Annabelle?”
“Yes. I opened the store two years ago, after finishing college.” Annabelle glanced around the store with pride in her eyes before straightening a display of scarves on the table in front of them. “I couldn’t wait to come back to the island. What about you? Do you live here, or are you just visiting?”
“I’m only here for the week, but I’m already in
love with the island,” Shelley said. “And I think I’m in love with your scarves, too. They’re absolutely gorgeous.”
“This one would look fantastic on you,” Annabelle said as she handed Shelley a forest-green scarf with light green threading. “They’re my sister’s designs.”
“She’s very talented.” Shelley wound the colorful scarf around her neck and gave a sigh of delight at how wonderfully soft it was.
“That is definitely your color. It really brings out your eyes. And I have an emerald-green sundress that will go perfectly with that scarf. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show it to you.”
As Shelley followed her to the back of the store, Annabelle said, “Since you’re here for a week, be sure to go to the fireworks display the day after tomorrow. The resort puts on a huge display three times a year. You can see it from almost anywhere on the island.”
Shelley took the green dress Annabelle handed her into the fitting room and was pleased to find that the halter top and midthigh length flattered her figure, with the scarf as the perfect accessory for the cool New England evenings.
Shelley felt so beautiful in the dress that she hated to take it off and reluctantly changed back into her shorts. “This dress is incredible. I’d like to buy the scarf, too. In fact, I think I’m going to wear these when I watch the fireworks.”
She had just walked out of the dressing room when a very attractive middle-aged blond woman came into the store. Annabelle waved to the woman as she began to ring up Shelley’s purchases. “Hi, Aunt Abby. Your new pants look great on you.”
“Griff said the same thing,” the woman said with a pretty little flush on her cheeks as she looked down at her black linen pants, which complemented her simple white scoop-neck T-shirt and ballet flats. “Thank you for suggesting them. I thought I’d come down and see if you wanted to have dinner tomorrow with me and Sierra?” After Annabelle said she’d love to, the woman pushed her side-swept bangs out of her eyes and smiled at Shelley. “That dress and scarf are just lovely.”
