Stranded In Paradise

by Jennifer Cole

  Back Cover Copy

  Two volatile people, two different lives—too hot to handle?

  Dax Winslow never believed in love at first sight...that was before he met Kendall Zurich. While en route to the most important meeting of his legal career, Dax’s car breaks down in the small town of Milton Ville and he finds himself face to face with the owner of Kenny’s Service Station. The stunning mechanic knocks his otherwise structured psyche off balance.

  Kendall Zurich is content with her laidback life. Too bad Dax’s arrival disrupts her quiet existence and turns it completely upside down. She can only hope the dashing counselor doesn’t uncover her secret...and if he does, the deception isn’t too big for forgiveness.

  Emotions of the past can provoke a burning struggle. Will very separate lives, misunderstandings, and outright lies be enough to keep them apart? Or has each finally found the spark that could ignite a lifetime?

  Highlight

  As Dax gave his head a shake to clear the vision in his mind, he found himself standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching Kendall dishing out their dinner from a slow cooker on the counter. The sight of her took his breath away. Freshly showered, her blond curls were still slightly damp. Clad in a pair of denim shorts that teasingly hugged her round rear and a pastel pink tank top. He saw she wore a black bra by the strap peeking out, and wondered if matching panties caressed the flesh under her shorts. The fresh clean scent she exuded drove his senses crazy.

  As he stood in silence watching her, he noticed her stiffen suddenly, raising her head as if distracted from her task.

  * * * *

  Kenny sensed her guest behind her, felt the weight of his stare. Catching a whiff of Dax’s mild cologne, her nipples hardened painfully and the clean pair of panties she wore grew damp.

  She tensed. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said, surprised at the breathlessness of her voice. Turning to meet his gaze, her breath caught.

  “Starved,” he answered, his voice low, deep.

  Stranded In Paradise

  978-1-61650-131-0

  Copyright © 2008, Jennifer Cole

  Edited by Pamela Tyner

  Book design by Brian Hunter

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: April, 2010

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  http://www.lyricalpress.com

  eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Table of Contents

  Back Cover Copy

  Highlight

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About Jennifer Cole

  More From Lyrical Press

  Dedication

  For lovers of romance...

  Chapter 1

  Daxton M. Winslow III drove his rental car along the deserted county road. He hadn’t passed another vehicle in close to an hour and had seen only a handful of old farmhouses. The fields lining either side of the dirt road contained acres upon acres of thriving crops or pastures of livestock.

  He was thankful to have arrived a day early to familiarize himself with the area before his meeting with the law firm’s newest potential client. He tapped the GPS unit mounted atop the dash and cursed under his breath. Since leaving the airport he’d been driving four hours, and had yet to come upon his destination. The firm was more than holding their own in corporate law, but the reputation attached to the Waterston Corporation would put MacIntyre, McQuaid and Winslow at the top of the legal food chain.

  To say Dax was royally pissed the senior partners assigned this specific trip to him would be an understatement. Law wasn’t his passion, it was his father’s. Three years earlier and fresh out of law school he’d been appointed junior partner in his father’s firm. He figured he would have made junior partner on his own impeccable record—three years of practice without a single loss in court—but law wasn’t what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

  Architectural design had always been his first love, a passion he’d kept hidden from his father. Over the past two-and-a-half years, he had successfully sold his designs for several small office buildings throughout the state.

  As pissed as he was about the assignment, during this trip Dax planned to kill two birds with one stone. The day after his father informed him he would be leaving by the week’s end, Dax received a call from a conglomerate of doctors planning on building a new medical facility. Having a design in mind sure to be just what they were looking for—according to the specifications they had emailed him—he arranged an appointment, following his meeting with Clayton Waterston.

  Catching himself smiling in satisfaction, Dax couldn’t have been happier because during this trip he was also getting a reprieve from the egotistical, self-centered Molly McQuaid. A couple of months earlier his father suggested—to be more accurate, demanded—Dax see his partner’s daughter socially. Not wanting to disappoint his father, and in an effort to keep the peace in his parents’ home, he agreed to a couple of dates with her.

  Immediately Molly latched on to Dax, proclaiming them engaged. The only things Molly had going for her were her heart-stopping beauty and her father’s money. A whiny, needy, selfish pain-in-the-ass, the only relationship Molly enjoyed being in was the one with her mirror. For weeks he gave her the brush-off, but the spoiled brat refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. Twice he changed his cellphone number, fed up with her calling all hours of the day and night. As of late, she’d taken to showing up at the office to see him.

  Glancing at the GPS monitor for the hundredth time, Dax cursed under his breath. He should have been at the hotel long ago. It was clear he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere, but where? He had been following the fucking GPS to the letter.

  Sort of.

  On the shoulder of the dirt road, a sign came into view:

  Milton Ville 5 Miles

  Population 250

  “Finally,” he muttered, reaching over to crank up the volume of the stereo.

  Sharp pinging sounds came from the engine. A glance at the dashboard identified the engine light glowing at him. When the car suddenly lurched he glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see a cloud of thick black smoke. Another lurch, followed by chugging and choking noises, made him clutch the steering wheel. The CD player then spit his AC/DC CD toward the back window, shattering the thin plastic disc into pieces.

  “Oh, this is just fucking great,” Dax said through gritted teeth, pounding the steering w
heel with the palms of his hands.

  A mile outside of town the car started to lose speed. Black smoke continued to spew from the rear, and the loud pinging had turned into a harsh constant knocking. As he pleaded with the car to fix itself, Dax took a moment to survey his surroundings. Bungalows and cottage style homes lined either side of the main street.

  Various shades of faded pastel paint colored the houses; one was robin’s egg blue, another buttercup yellow, several were mint green, a couple were soft lavender; and just about every property was surrounded by a waist-high white picket fence. In one yard he watched three children playing ball with a puppy. Branches from tall trees hung over the street, the leaves offering cool shade from the hot sun above.

  Dax spied the Milton Ville General Store on the far corner of what appeared to be the only intersection in town, and in his opinion, the structure was in dire need of renovation. He speculated the merchandise in the store had to be the only thing preventing the building from collapsing to the ground. A man sat on a bench out front, his legs outstretched and ankles crossed, his fingers interlaced atop his big belly, a straw hat pulled over his face. Dax wondered if the man was asleep.

  “Oh, just beautiful,” he growled as the engine finally died, the car rolling to a stop some twenty feet from the entrance to a service station.

  When a man and a little boy appeared around the corner on the opposite side of the street from the store, each with a fishing rod resting on their shoulder, Dax dropped his forehead against the steering wheel.

  “I’ve arrived in fucking Mayberry,” he groaned.

  Opening his left eye a crack, he watched as smoke now poured out from under the hood as well as underneath of the vehicle. Once the smoke and stench of burning crept into the interior, Dax opened the door and got out. Slamming the door with unnecessary force, he again cursed under his breath, kicking the front tire. When his foot made contact, the tire popped and went flat. Seconds later a god-awful clunk followed from under the car.

  He stared openmouthed at the newer model Mazda sedan he’d driven from the airport. After several moments, he looked over at Kenny’s Service Station and began walking. As he approached, he found himself grinning as he noticed the four old-fashioned gas pumps in the middle of the lot. Large overhead doors in the front of the building stood open, where he could see that two hoists each had a car raised high in the air. Inside one bay, he noticed the lower halves of two mechanics as they worked on one of the cars. Outside the small wooden door leading into the rundown building, a big old German Shepherd and a Bloodhound lay sound asleep.

  “Jesus, this place is right out of a fifties horror flick.” He chuckled, shaking his head with amusement as he reached for the doorknob.

  A tiny bell above the door tinkled as it opened and then closed behind him. An older gentleman, who could have passed for Santa Claus, sat behind a beat-up old desk reading a newspaper. The man didn’t even lift his head to acknowledge Dax’s presence.

  “What can we do fer ya, son?” the old man drawled in a crackled voice that hinted of a three-pack-a-day habit.

  “Yes, sir, my car broke down, conveniently on the street right out front there.” Dax pointed at the road.

  “Yer not blocking traffic, is ya?” he asked, still concentrating on the newspaper.

  “No, sir. I’ve pulled it off to the shoulder. I’m kind of in a hurry, would your mechanic be able to have a look at it for me?”

  “Well now, son, we got a few ahead of ya. If ya wanna leave it, we’ll git to her soon as we can.”

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding. His jaw started to tick. “Actually, sir, I can’t just leave it. I’m supposed to be in Abbotsford for an important business meeting. I took a wrong turn somewhere and now my car has died. I’m really in a hurry here.”

  Without lifting his head, the old man turned the page of his paper. “Yup, sounds like yer in a real jam.”

  Dax stared at Santa’s twin in disbelief. Oh, there is no way this country hick attitude is going to fly with me right now. He clenched his fists at his sides. “Excuse me, sir.” Dax leaned across the desk, yanking the paper out of the old man’s hands, finally gaining his attention.

  “Hey now.” He reached for his stolen paper. “I’s readin’ that.”

  Calmly folding the paper, Dax tucked it under one arm, holding the older man’s gaze. “I need your mechanic to take a look at my car, and I need him to look at it now,” he stated evenly. “I need to be in Abbotsford for an appointment.”

  “Abbotsford, huh? Real pretty place this time of year.” He stopped, staring off into space, deep in thought. “Whatcha goin’ there fer?” the old man asked with mild interest.

  Was he serious? Dax was in dire straits here and this clown wanted to make small talk? I’m being punished. That was it. He didn’t know what he had done, but it must have been something big. With a shake of his head, a slight grin curled his lips before he answered. “I have a business meeting with the Waterston Corporation.”

  The old man acknowledged with a nod of his head. “Well, ya ain’t gonna git there anytime soon, son. Yer more ’an a six hour drive from Abbotsford.” He stood and again reached for his paper.

  “What!” Dax shouted. “Un-fucking-believable. How in the hell…” The tick in his jaw worked even faster.

  Inhaling a deep calming breath, he watched the old man lean back on his heels and tuck his hands into the pockets of his railroad-style overalls. With speculative, narrow eyes the old man looked Dax over thoroughly. The sight of his scruffy white beard hanging down to his big round belly brought to Dax’s mind the character of ‘Uncle Jesse’ from the old Dukes of Hazzard series that ended in the mid-eighties.

  Following a second deep breath, Dax exhaled slowly. “Sir, may I please speak with your mechanic?” he asked politely. “I’ve really got to get back on the road.”

  “Ain’t here,” the old man replied with a smirk and a shrug.

  The tick in Dax’s jaw was joined by the one beside his right eye.

  “There are two guys out there in the garage right now working on a car. I saw them when I walked up, now would you please go and get one of them so I may speak to them? I’m in a hurry.” Dax tapped his watch, trying to maintain his calm, although feeling himself losing it. Fast. “I have a schedule to keep.”

  The old man was about to drive Dax over the edge and seemed well aware of that fact. Silently he continued to stare at Dax, who felt as if his ears were on fire and were turning bright red from his growing annoyance.

  “Listen, old man, I don’t have time for these games.” Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “Are you the owner here, sir?” he asked, using his courtroom voice.

  Santa shook his head, grinning.

  “Well, do you expect the owner to come by anytime today, sir?” Dax maintained eye contact with him.

  The man remained silent and shrugged.

  Dax inhaled another breath. “Sir, I have to say, this is a poor manner with which to treat a customer.”

  At that moment, Dax decided he’d been working too hard. The stress of the firm was getting to him, and he determined he was long overdue for a holiday. When he went home, he intended to clear his calendar and use up some of his banked vacation time.

  This test of wills was not one in which he saw himself coming out the victor. Dax found it interesting that he didn’t particularly have the energy or the care to argue with the man over semantics. Catching himself chuckling, he eyed the older man. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “Nope,” the man said, still grinning.

  “Listen…” Dax reached for his wallet, trying to gain some control over the situation. “I’ll pay twice your usual shop rate…”

  Inside his pants pocket, his cellphone rang. Pulling it out, Dax looked at the display and cursed under his breath.

  “I’m sorry. Excuse me a moment,” Dax said to the man studying him. Deciding to put some distance between himself and t
he old man for a few minutes, he answered Molly’s call. “What,” he bit out into the phone.

  “Is that anyway to greet your future wife?” she snipped back.

  “You aren’t my future anything, Molly,” he growled into the mouthpiece. “What do you want? I’m in the middle of something important.”

  “Humph,” she huffed back. “Daddy hasn’t heard from you yet, so I told him I’d call to check up on you. How come you changed your cell number again?”

  Dax rolled his eyes and tamped his anger down.

  “I’ve had a little car trouble,” he informed her, turning to look at the smoking heap of blue metal on the side of the road. “Tell your father not to worry, I’ll make the meeting tomorrow morning as scheduled. Now, I’ve got to go, and don’t call me again.” Before Molly could utter another word, Dax snapped his cell closed, ending the call.

  When he turned back to the Santa clone, the old man wore a broad smirk on his face as he continued to watch Dax closely. “Trouble with yer missus?”

  “I don’t have a missus,” Dax mumbled irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That was a business associate.” Christ, is this fucking day ever going to end?

  The old man came around from behind the desk to stand in front of Dax. “To answer yer question, this here’s Kenny’s shop.”

  Great, now we’re getting somewhere. “Excellent. Any chance Kenny is around? I’d like to speak with him.” Dax was disgusted with the desperation he heard in his voice.

  Christ, he had to get the car fixed and get back on his way. It would be well after midnight by the time he made it to his hotel, since he was six fucking hours away from his destination.

  “In the back.” The old man jerked a thumb toward the garage. “Kenny!” his croaky voice called out. “Come in here, would ya? Customer wants to yak at ya.”

  Finally. Dax sighed with relief, glancing back at the smoldering heap he’d arrived in.

  Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as it looked and he would be on the road in no time. Mentally he kicked himself for not paying closer attention during auto shop class in high school. Cars had never been of interest to him, unless they got him from point A to point B, and got him there fast. Other than that, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what made them run. As long as he kept his car fuelled, his mechanic would take care of the rest.