The Trouble With Paradise

by Jill Shalvis

  He took them all in, including the fact that there was no boat anywhere near them, and raised his hands as if to say what happened?

  “We limped in after the storm,” Denny called out. “And lost our boat.”

  “Ah.” The man handed his helm over to the man standing at his right, and hopped down into the water without regard to his clearly expensive pants. Water splashed up to his knees as he stepped onto the shore, holding out his hand to Denny. “Michael Phillips.”

  “Denny McDonald,” Denny said, and the two shook hands.

  “So you’re in a bit of a bind,” Michael said in that expensive British voice.

  “You could say so.”

  Ethan and Christian were behind him, tense and very watchful.

  “Men,” Brandy whispered in Dorie’s ear. “They’re playing the who has the biggest dick game.” The Vegas dancer stepped closer. “How did you happen on us?” she asked.

  Michael turned his head and looked at her. “I didn’t just happen on you.”

  Denny and Ethan went very, very still.

  Christian didn’t move either, and Dorie could almost see him mentally wielding the knife she knew he held.

  “I own this island.” Michael studied each of them in turn. “We saw smoke from your fire yesterday and figured a boat had stopped for some beach fun. When we saw the smoke again today, I decided to come check it out.”

  “You own the island,” Brandy said in a holy shit voice.

  He smiled. “Along with a very exclusive getaway on the north side. You didn’t see that, apparently.”

  “No,” Denny muttered. “We didn’t.”

  “We tried,” Ethan said, “but we couldn’t get over there.”

  “Which is what makes it exclusive. We don’t usually have more than a single guest at a time, for privacy’s sake.”

  Uh-oh.Dorie knew what that meant. Either he was catering to the rich and famous, or he was a drug runner. God, she hoped it was the rich and famous.

  “So you’re stranded,” Michael said calmly. “Stuck here.”

  “The guy’s a genius,” Denny muttered, and Dorie wondered if he was put out because he was no longer the only captain on the island, or if it was because he was the only captain on the island without a boat.

  Michael didn’t seem concerned with either possibility, or with the fact that the men still hadn’t relaxed. He walked up the beach like he did indeed own the place, and smiled at the women. “Are there any injuries?”

  Their matching smiles faded in unison as they remembered.

  Bobby.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice low with obvious concern as he took in each and every one of them. “Who’s hurt?”

  “Not hurt,” Denny said. “Missing. We lost one of our crew.”

  “In the storm?”

  They all looked at each other, and Dorie was right there with them. What to say now? Yes, in the storm, but one of us might have assisted that loss? The ramifications of saying anything close to that hit her like a one-two punch. The authorities would be called, and each of them who’d been on the Sun Song, including herself, would be held for questioning.

  They’d be suspects, one and all. And worse, suspects outside of the United States and its authority, which meant they’d be held in a foreign prison.

  “It’s complicated,” Christian said calmly. “But we’ll need the authorities.”

  Michael lifted a brow. “Is there a crime scene?”

  The silence became weighted until Christian spoke. “The crime scene was on the boat.”

  Michael just looked at them. “So there are . . .” He counted. “Seven of you.”

  “Yes,” Christian said.

  “Been a rough few days, I imagine?”

  “Actually,” Brandy said. “If it hadn’t been for poor Bobby, I wouldn’t have minded any of it.”

  “A noncomplaining woman.” He gave her a second look. “What a refreshing surprise in a guest. I have radio communications and a telephone line. You can call whoever else you need to. Consider yourself rescued. You could be out of here by nightfall.”

  His boat, aptly named Elegance, was every bit as beautiful as the Sun Song had been. Even more so, if that was possible. The ride wasn’t long, but Dorie took in the crystal chandeliers, the brass fixtures, the wealth and sophistication in every inch of the yacht and felt bowled over by all it represented. “Do you sail often?”

  “Used to.” Michael served them all champagne. “But then I built my place, and...” He lifted a shoulder. “Now I’d rather be on the island, if I’m not working.”

  “Working?”

  “Writing scripts. Producing.”

  Cadence blinked.

  Brandy gasped.

  So did Dorie. “Are you . . . that Michael Phillips?”

  Michael smiled.

  “Oh my God,” Cadence said. “I saw you get your third Oscar this year. I love you. I mean—” she stuttered when everyone laughed. “I love your work.”

  “The elusive, hermitlike Hollywood big shot,” Andy said slowly, sitting forward, flashing his million-dollar smile. “Hey. Someone more famous than me.”

  Michael laughed and topped off their flutes. “I don’t know about that. Ah, here we go. Up ahead.”

  His place was quite simply the most amazing thing Dorie had ever seen. The mansion was cut into the mountainside as if a part of it, all wood and various levels with walls of windows and so many decks she couldn’t count, shaded by lush growth and flowers in every hue.

  Michael’s crew maneuvered them to the dock with hardly a bump, and when they tied off, they all stepped onto the wood and stared up the grassy cliffs with amazement.

  “Wow,” Cadence said, speaking for all of them.

  “Let’s go inside.” There were two sets of rock stairs cut into the mountainside, leading straight up the cliff to the house. Michael gestured for them to take the left route. At the top, Dorie turned in a half circle and realized she could see nearly half the island, and what looked like the entire ocean and horizon. She’d had her breath taken away before but this cut right through all that and stole her heart.

  Completely.

  She stood at the top of the world it seemed, the house behind her, the entire ocean in front of her, and simply couldn’t breathe.

  “There’s a phone just inside,” Michael said.

  Right. Back to the real world. She looked at Christian and realized the truth. She wasn’t ready to go.

  Christian walked through the room he’d been given, stripping as he headed to the bathroom. It was done. The authorities called, loved ones notified, nightmare over.

  The only negative—and it was a big one—Bobby’s body had been found, so the rescue had turned into a retrieval.

  Christian hated that.

  Given the situation, he knew there’d be a circus of authorities descending on the island as quickly as possible.

  They all had mixed feelings about what would happen next, him most of all. Naked, he stepped into the shower and stood beneath the spray of the water, letting it pummel his exhausted body.

  Lifting his hands to the wall, he bent his head, letting the water beat down on his shoulders, working at the tension knotted there. His home, for what it was worth, was gone. He had no idea what that meant for his life in general, but at least he still had a life, and was breathing, which he doubted could be said for Bobby.

  From the time they’d shipwrecked until this very moment, Christian’s own survival had taken precedence over Bobby’s disappearance. He hadn’t really had the time to get past the surface of what had happened, but he did now. One of the people he’d just spent four days with, eating, talking, working, surviving . . . one of them had done this to Bobby.

  Denny could be a first-class asshole but when it came to violence, he always backed down. It was why Christian had had to hold the knife when Michael’s boat had first shown up. Besides, Denny needed crew members around him. It made him feel important. It was why he
’d sailed with three instead of the customary two. For him to get rid of Bobby was totally and completely out of character.

  As for Ethan . . . Christian was maybe the only person on the planet who knew the chef had harbored a secret crush on Bobby. Not just a crush but something deeper, which had both baffled the younger man and driven the kid crazy, because Bobby was as straight as an arrow. Even though Ethan had a lot of drama in him, he was a self-proclaimed pacifist. Imagining Ethan hurting Bobby made even less sense than Denny doing it.

  Then who?

  Andy was the logical choice, because Bobby had owed him a helluva lot of money that Andy was never going to see. And yet the sight of Dorie’s blood had made the baseball player want to pass out.

  Which left the women.

  Brandy, with her cool eyes, cool smile, jaded ways . . . and heart of gold. Cadence, a little hyperactive, a little OCD, and a whole lot of heart as well.

  Then there was Dorie—

  Who, he suddenly realized, had let herself into the bathroom and was standing on the other side of the glass shower door looking her fill. “You have a thing for watching a man take a shower,” he noted.

  “Would you believe I got lost?”

  Just looking at her standing there, indeed looking a little lost and a whole lot uncertain, beautiful without even being aware of it, grabbed him by the throat and held, squeezing the air from his lungs. She could destroy him with nothing more than her eyes.

  “Lost,” she repeated. “And you know what?”

  Suddenly it hurt to breathe, much less talk, so he just shook his head.

  “I’ve also, somehow, found my way,” she whispered, and there was something in her eyes that made his chest hurt even more.

  Her heart.

  Oh, God. Not that. Not her damn heart. He told himself to turn away. To just continue on with his shower and his very rare, very private moment of reflection. In fact, he reached out to shut the shower door, blocking her, but somehow his brain didn’t get the message to his hands because they fisted in her top and hauled her into the shower with him.

  She gasped, a sound he swallowed with his mouth, and he realized almost immediately that this kiss was different than their others.

  Not just sex.

  Ah, hell. If he could just get her out of his head, but she’d been stuck there since he first laid eyes on her at the dock in Fiji, alone and just a little bit bedraggled, a little bit bewildered, and a whole lot sweet and sexy.

  Not.

  Just.

  Sex.

  God. Pulling her in, he softened the connection. Not as wild now, not as out of control. Not as new, but no less necessary.

  Sweet. Slow. Hot.

  Deep.

  Deeper than any kiss he could remember, and then he wasn’t thinking at all because she let out a soft, helpless little murmur that he inhaled and felt as his own.

  She undid him. Completely undid him. He didn’t know how that would translate in the real world, but right now as he turned her, pressing her back against the tile, holding her there with his body, so his hands could roam over her wet, hot one, he didn’t care.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “So much.”

  Stopping nearly killed him, but he lifted his head. “I want you, too, Dorie.” He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “So damned much it hurts, but—”

  “But it doesn’t change anything. I know, Christian.”

  When he opened his eyes, hers were shiny, too shiny, but she was smiling. “It’s okay.” Then she kissed him. Kissed him until he could do nothing but wrap her in his arms and moan her name. Only when air was necessary did he pull back, looking into her eyes, those amazing, mesmerizing eyes.

  “I know what’s in store tomorrow, Christian,” she said softly. “And I still want today.”

  God. He pressed his forehead to hers. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her, and for her sake, he needed to stop the madness. “I can’t do this to you. I—”

  “I’m a big girl, Christian. Now love me. I want to remember this. You.”

  Lifting his head, he stroked his fingers over her jaw. “I’ll never forget you.”

  “I intend to make sure of that.”

  Then she put her mouth to his again, and pulled him under.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  When Christian came up for air, Dorie’s lashes were wet, sticking together, the shower water running down her face and into her clothing, which was plastered to her every curve. He’d never seen anything so sexy. “Do you always take a shower with your clothes on?”

  She smiled. “It’s becoming a habit.”

  Taking the hem of her top in his hands, he lifted. Raising up her arms, she let him pull it off over her head and toss it out of the shower. Her eyes filled with arousal and trust and so damned much affection and need he nearly had to close his.

  Don’t need me. Christ, don’t need me. At the end of the day, he never had anything left in the tank to give to someone.

  At least that’s what he’d always thought, what he’d believed, and he’d lived his life by it. He healed others, that’s what he did, the end.

  A little breathless, she smiled again, the one that clenched his gut tight and knotted him up, all in good ways, ways he hadn’t believed possible. Her bra was pale peach and sheer, revealing everything to him, including the fact that he turned her on every bit as much as she turned him on. Flicking open the front clasp, the blood drained from his head for parts south at the low, sexy catch in her throat. Then the bra slipped and fell to the shower floor, and he couldn’t think at all.

  She had tan lines, her limbs darkened from the last few days in the sun. Her breasts were perfectly outlined as if she was still wearing her bikini top, the skin there pale and glistening, her nipples hard and pebbled.

  With water running over them.

  “I’ve had a lot of firsts this week,” she said very quietly, her voice husky as her arms slid up his chest and around his neck, one of her hands sinking into his hair, her fingers tightening. “All life-changing firsts.”

  Life-changing. He opened his mouth to ask her to clarify, but then her gaze dipped to his lips and he knew she wanted another kiss.

  With their mouths already lined up, only a breath away, with her breasts smashed up against his chest, it was going to happen. But he forced himself to hold back a beat, to make sure he could, and it was just hard enough that he knew the truth. He wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a good long time.

  Maybe ever.

  The enforced wait had anticipation flowing through him, he slid his hands down her sides, barely grazing her breasts, her ribs, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her skirt, which was clinging to her hips and legs like a second skin. He knew he had no right to this, but neither could he summon the strength to stop. “You should really walk away from me.”

  Instead, she pressed her body to his. “Don’t say no,” she whispered.

  Was she kidding? It’d have taken a bigger man than himself. He slid her skirt down her legs until it pooled at their feet on top of her bra.

  She was wearing a tiny scrap of green silk with tinier yellow daisies embroidered on the edging, which for some reason made him smile.

  “I know I don’t match. I’m not the most organized—”

  When he tugged them off, she shut up. With the water hammering his back, he slid to his knees and pressed his mouth to her hip.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  Her other hip.

  Her fingers sinking in his hair. “What if someone comes?”

  He ran his tongue along the edge of the cotton. “The only person who’s going to come is you.”

  Her head thunked back against the tile as her fingers tightened in his hair, hard enough to make him wince, but instead he smiled. Smiled as he drew her into his mouth and made her cry out his name. Smiled while driving her over the edge and into his arms. Smiled as he stood up, lifted her up and thrust into her.

  He cou
ldn’t remember ever grinning as he took a woman before, and couldn’t have imagined it, but then her creamy heat surrounded him, pulled him in, and his amusement faded away. In its place came that ache in his chest. A physical pain.

  “Christian,” she murmured, her hands cupping his face. Pressing her forehead to his, she panted softly as he moved within her. “I never knew—”

  Him either. By her own admission, he had more experience than her when it came to sex, and he’d still had no idea. This wasn’t simple sex, and in a flash of clarity, he recognized it for what it was. Not just pure attraction. Not just companionship, or an adrenaline rush.

  But he didn’t want to put a name to it.

  Instead, he took her mouth and her body, and when she came apart for him with his name on her lips, he felt his already racing pulse kick into an even higher gear. Hell, his heart nearly burst out of his damn chest, especially when he thought about this being the last time. Because it hurt to even think the words he thought he’d wanted, he kissed her—a long, deep, wet kiss designed to make them both forget everything but what they did to each other, only even that backfired, because in the forgetting, he remembered how perfect it really was . . .

  Dorie tossed back her wet hair and walked down the decadent upstairs hallway, marveling anew at the sharp contrast between the past few days with no luxuries, and now, surrounded by the most gorgeous house she’d ever seen. She caught sight of her own reflection in a long gilded mirror and stopped short. Her skin was glowing, her eyes sparkling. Seemed being shipwrecked agreed with her.

  That, or the sex.

  Actually, Christian. Christian agreed with her.

  The hallway was wide, tiled, and cool, thanks to the lush plants and openness of the layout. The colors were definitely South Pacific, bright primary colors splashed on the walls. Everywhere there were plants, big and small, all moist and green and swaying in the light breeze provided by all the opened doorways and windows.

  The balcony was lined in clear glass so that she could see down to the huge open room beneath. She came to a stop at the top of the stairs, aware that her body was still humming with carnal pleasure, and that most likely she wore a grin from ear to ear that screamed Just Satisfied.