It Had To Be You

by Francis Ray

Helen and Esther had been her mother’s best friends all through high school in Louisville. They were determined that she not miss the fortieth reunion as she’d missed all the rest. They still lived there and had flown to Los Angeles to personally persuade her. As if they were still in high school, the three had stayed up and talked most of the night.

  Sabra arrived with Pierce the next day to add her encouragement for her mother to go. Pierce had produced three first-class tickets to Louisville and hotel reservations for her mother. They all agreed her mother needed to get away and have time for herself instead of putting all of her time and energy into Laurel. Laurel had just finished a 104-city international tour the month before.

  When her mother had expressed concern about Laurel being alone, Sabra had come up with the idea of Laurel taking her own vacation. She’d described Navarone Riviera Maya, with its pristine white sand beaches and the soothing turquoise water of the Caribbean, and Laurel had felt a longing she hadn’t been aware of.

  With one phone call to Sierra Grayson Navarone, Sabra had everything planned. She’d helped her mother pack, then took Laurel shopping for beachwear. There had been no stopping her. Pierce had just smiled and helped carry all of the bags to the waiting car. All Laurel had to do was walk out the door—this time without her violin. Sabra again. She thought Laurel would spend her days in her room playing instead of having fun.

  Laurel’s lips twitched. Sabra was probably right. If she had her instrument, she’d be in her room now. She’d toyed with the idea of asking her agent to send it by courier, then dismissed it. She loved her music, but she shouldn’t let it be her entire focus in life. Sabra had found a balance, and so would Laurel.

  When she returned, she was going into the studio to record her new album. The last one had gone platinum, as had the six previous. Laurel’s hand trembled just the tiniest bit. She placed her glass on the table.

  Her agent and the executives at her recording label seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion that this album would go platinum as well. She had the same backup musicians, the same producer. Laurel wasn’t as optimistic, but she never was while recording.

  She loved performing in front of a live audience, feeling connected with them. Hearing the final cuts for the album, the thought always nagged her that something was missing.

  Then, too, this would be the first album since she’d lost her father. He wouldn’t be there to call her every night and ask her how the day went, encourage her when nothing had seemed to go right, praise her when magic had happened between her and her violin. Tears crested in her eyes. She blinked them away.

  She supposed she should go back to her room, but the idea had no appeal. It was luxuriously furnished, beautifully decorated in white and black, had an infinity pool, and was a short distance from the sea, but Laurel felt even lonelier there.

  She’d thought being around people would help. It hadn’t, and neither had the brief shopping trip this morning along La Quinta Avenida, the main pedestrian walkway. She wasn’t sure she could stand seven more days of this. At the last minute, her mother had decided to extend her trip since Laurel was going away as well. Perhaps she could just go home and not tell anyone.

  There was only one problem: Rio Sanchez, dark, dangerous, stoic. His eyes were as black as midnight and as sharp as a razor blade. Rio had flown back yesterday in the private jet that had brought them to Cancún, but he’d left a man to guard her.

  Somewhere unseen, Kyle Saunders watched her. Laurel had tried to tell Sabra that a bodyguard wasn’t necessary, but no one had listened. She had barely kept from laughing when she’d seen the two men who’d accompanied her to the airport. They talked little. Their eyes moved constantly. While she had fans, they were not as demonstrative as those in the pop industry.

  She made a face. She didn’t want that kind of notoriety or the bad press. And if she allowed Rolling Deep to produce her next album, she could just imagine what it would do to her image. Even the name conjured up danger, weapons, and hard partying.

  She’d heard nothing but sordid stories about him since she’d moved to Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago. She’d told her agent that under no circumstances did she want anything to do with the man. His agent had acted as if she should be honored. She wasn’t. There was no way in hell that she’d let him produce her next album.

  “Please excuse me, Ms. Raineau, there is a gentleman diner who would like to share your table, if you don’t mind?” the maître d’ asked. “We have no free tables and we’re booked solid.”

  Laurel looked up at the elegant, olive-skinned tuxedoed man, who appeared a bit uneasy. She tried to decide if the man he spoke of was trying a new pickup line or was in earnest. She didn’t have to think for long. The Seascape was located on Navarone property. Guests were afforded luxury and privacy. She reached for her clutch. “He can have—”

  “Excuse me for not waiting, but I was afraid you’d say no and I’m starving.”

  Laurel glanced up. Her breath snagged, her heart did a crazy jitterbug. Staring down at her with the most incredible light brown eyes was a man straight out of a woman’s naughty fantasy. Clean-shaven, he was incredibly handsome with dimples he probably hated, a straight nose, a sensual mouth, and straight black hair that brushed the jacket of his beautifully tailored beige silk sport coat.

  He extended his hand. It was large, the nails manicured. No rings, but the square-faced, eighteen-karat gold watch with the major cities on the facing was sinfully expensive. “Zachary Albright. I promise I’m harmless.”

  Automatically she lifted her hand, a bit mesmerized by the sexy grin that made her stomach muscles tighten. There was no way a man this handsome with such teasing grin would ever be harmless. Lethal, definitely. The brief handshake proved her right.

  The jolt went straight to her toes in her four-inch black high-vamp sling backs. Since she was barely five-three, she always wore heels when she went out. Shoes, she was serious about.

  “Please,” he coaxed, his voice a deep rumble that reminded her of moonlight and magic. His long fingers curled over the top of the chair facing her. She could almost imagine them curving around her neck, bringing her lips closer.

  “Madam?” the maître d’ asked.

  She should say no. This man made her body act totally out of character.

  “Please,” he urged, stepping around the chair to bring himself closer. The impact was immediate. He made every one of her nerve endings go on full alert and pant for mercy.

  Run, Laurel, a small voice warned. To where? A lonely room and then what?

  “Of course.” It was the courteous thing to do. Besides, it would give her someone to talk to for a bit. A flimsy excuse, but it was the best one she could think of with her normally intelligent brain fogged.

  “Thank you. I was thinking you’d send me on my way. I just arrived and was afraid I’d have to wait until morning for a decent meal.” He laughed, a silken sound that stroked her. She blinked.

  What was the matter with her? Lonely or not, she’d never reacted so physically to a man. She hadn’t known she could. She had thought all the talk of instant attraction was wishful lies. Even with the user, Sean, she’d been flattered more than aroused when they’d first met. Her feelings for him hadn’t gone much deeper. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to see through his lies.

  This man rang all of Laurel’s bells, as her hair-dresser, Tiffany, would say. Happily married with a husband who adored her, Tiffany often said there was nothing wrong with admiring a good-looking man.

  This man took the seat closest to her. The maître d’ placed his napkin across his lap. The waiter and sommelier rushed over. The man turned to her. “What would you like?”

  Her heart to stop racing, for a start. “Nothing, thank you.”

  “Then you’ve eaten dinner?” he asked, seeming unconcerned that the two hovered over him. Apparently he was used to people waiting on him instead of the other way around.

  “Yes,” she answered a bit re
luctantly. For some odd reason she didn’t want him to know she had stayed because she was lonely. “I was just finishing my wine.”

  “Dessert?”

  “Nothing,” she told him, picking up her wineglass, surprised to find it almost empty.

  “Would you like coffee, another glass of wine, or something else?” he persisted.

  “Tonic water would be fine.”

  He nodded his dark head and turned to give his food and their drink order. Finished, he smiled at her. Her heart did a dance again.

  Embarrassment battled with the relief that he hadn’t been giving her a line. She was so tired of people lying or trying to use her. The more successful she became, the more it seemed people wanted something out of her. It would be wonderful just to be liked as plain Laurel Raineau.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Laurel’s gaze jumped to Kyle’s broad shoulders, his intimidating stance, his stoic face. But he wasn’t looking at her. His focus was on the man at her table.

  Zachary didn’t seem concerned. His face pleasant, he stuck out his hand. “Zachary Albright.”

  The unbending stare wavered, then morphed into a cordial smile. Her security man extended his own hand. “Kyle Saunders. Enjoy your evening.”

  Laurel was relieved, but a bit surprised by the smile and Kyle’s quick departure. He had appeared out of nowhere when the men tried to pick her up earlier. She hadn’t been sure if it was her refusal or Kyle’s presence that had made them leave the restaurant so quickly. Apparently Kyle approved of her new dinner companion. She certainly did.

  “Your wine, sir. Tonic water, miss.” The waiter placed the glasses and poured Laurel’s water. “Your food will arrive shortly. Your salad and bread are on the way.”

  “Thanks.” Zachary picked up his glass, tipped it toward her. “To a gracious lady, Miss . . .”

  She blushed. She hadn’t been able to help herself. No one had ever stared at her so intently. At least, no one as incredibly handsome as her unexpected guest. “Raineau, Laurel Raineau.”

  “You saved a weary traveler, Laurel Raineau. Pleased to meet you.” He sipped and then put his glass aside.

  “You just arrived?” she asked, trying to relax, but it was difficult with him so close. She was pleased that he’d never heard of her. She could smell his aftershave, a woodsy fragrance mixed with his own masculine scent. Her nostrils actually twitched.

  “Straight from the Cancún airport. I dropped my luggage off and came directly here. I heard the food and service were excellent,” he told her. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t even think of business for the next eight days. I plan to relax and have fun.”

  “Your salad, bread, and swordfish, sir.” The waiter placed the food on the table. “Pepper or anything else?”

  “This should do it.” He bowed his head for a few seconds and then picked up his fork. “I’m too starved to wait for separate courses. How long have you been here?”

  “I arrived last night.” He had perfect white teeth.

  “I can’t wait to see it in the morning.” He ate his food and stared at her. “Is it as breathtaking as I’ve heard?”

  The way he looked at her, the inflection of his voice, sent goose bumps skipping over Laurel’s skin. She’d always admired her agent and music execs who could talk and eat at the same time without seeming impolite. That took practice. He was probably a businessman, and he was also a very tempting man. Too tempting.

  She picked up her clutch. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal.”

  His fork clattered to his plate. “No, please. Don’t go. I hate to think I ran you off.”

  He had, but not in the way he thought. “You haven’t. I was about to go. I was just enjoying my wine.” She stood.

  He immediately came to his feet, his dark eyes narrowed on her face. “Laurel, please stay.”

  More goose bumps. Her heart fluttered at the sound of her name on his lips. She’d never hear it in moonlight, then feel his mouth on hers. Maybe she reacted so strongly to a perfect stranger because of all her thoughts about couples and realizing she wanted that special connection for herself. She wanted what her parents had.

  She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, battled tears. Memories of her father came rushing back. She’d always thought there would be more time for her to be with him. He and Sabra did things together, but if Laurel wasn’t practicing, she was on tour. There never seemed to be any free time. Now she had time, and he wasn’t there to share it with her.

  “What’s the matter?” Zachary asked.

  She shook her head, hoping she could get out of the restaurant before the tears fell.

  Zachary quickly pulled enough money from his wallet to more than cover the bill. “Let’s get out of here.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Placing his hand in the small of her back, he guided her toward the front door.

  Kyle was suddenly there. His sharp gaze flickered from Laurel’s strained face to Zachary’s implacable one.

  “She needs some air,” Zach explained.

  “You were vouched for. He wouldn’t like it if he were wrong,” Kyle murmured, then stepped aside.

  Zachary could give a flip about Kyle’s veiled threat. All he could think about was getting Laurel out of here. She was trembling all over. One moment she was staring at him with interest, the next she was close to tears.

  “Come on, Laurel.” They continued out of the restaurant and on to the curved walkway that connected the other businesses of Navarone Resort and Spa.

  He saw a sign that pointed to the beach and gently urged Laurel down the well-lit path. He smelled the salty air, saw the numerous palm trees bordering the beach before he heard the waves. Fifty feet farther, the moon-draped sea lay in front of them.

  Removing his jacket, he spread it on the sugary white sand. “Let’s just sit here for a moment and enjoy the view.”

  “I-I can’t sit on your jacket,” she said, her voice the barest whisper.

  “I’m certainly not letting you sit on the sand in evening clothes. Besides,” he said with a smile, “I’ve always wanted to rescue a damsel. My sister loved for me to read her fairy tales when she was growing up.”

  Her arms wrapped around her, Laurel looked out to the sea. “Do you have a large family?”

  “Just my mother and sister now,” he answered. He hadn’t planned to talk about family, just as he didn’t want to talk about his business. There were too many chances to slip up.

  Laurel swung back around, the glitter of tears thankfully gone from her incredible eyes. “I sort of liked fairy tales myself.”

  Zachary caught Laurel’s arm, felt the fragile bones beneath. She barely reached the middle of his chest. He wanted to draw her to him, fight her dragons for her. His reaction didn’t surprise him. Although they’d just met, he felt close to her.

  Perhaps that was the reason he’d been so annoyed with her when she refused to see him. He needed her, admired her, and she didn’t give a flying fig about him. Her music lulled him to sleep, haunted his dreams, played on his iPod, in his car. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

  Her tempting mouth curved upward. In silky black evening pants, she gracefully sank to his coat.

  He stared down at her as she looked up at him. Moonlight suited her. His body tightened fiercely. Lust blindsided him. He could too easily imagine kissing those lips, leaning her back on the sand as his body covered hers.

  He quickly sat before she saw his misshapen pants, and told her his little sister’s love of fairy tales and how she’d wanted a fairy-tale wedding, without using Paige’s name.

  Paige knew the family connections because she was married to Shane who, as former head of security, knew all the extended family members connected to Blade. Obviously Laurel didn’t—which worked in Zachary’s favor. However, he wasn’t taking a chance that she might know Rolling Deep was the nickname for Zachary Wilder. Only his lawyer knew his legal name was Albright.

  Arriving at the Cancún International Airport
he’d been even more grateful for the connection to Shane. There had a vehicle waiting and the key to a cottage at the back of Blade Navarone’s home. Zachary had driven the Jeep back to the Seascape, where he had dinner reservations.

  He’d hurried to the restaurant, hoping Laurel would be eating there as well. He’d spotted her sitting alone and saw it as his chance to meet her. He’d asked the maître d’ to seat him with her and had been quickly refused. Zachary told the stern-faced man that he was Shane’s brother-in-law. His resistance had faded like smoke in the wind.

  Zachary had watched Laurel from a distance. He’d seen the unmistakable sadness in her stunning face, and he had wanted to take it away and make her smile. He thought his first reaction on seeing her would be anger mixed with satisfaction that he had finally run her to ground. Now he just wanted never to see tears in her eyes again.

  He finished by saying, “She loves fiercely and is loyal beyond belief. She’s married now and calls her husband her Black Knight. She deserves every moment of happiness she has.”

  “I hope she never forgets and takes it for granted.”

  His arm curved automatically around her shoulders. She felt fragile. “You lost someone close to you?”

  She shivered. “My father.”

  “I’m sorry.” Of course he had known about her father’s death. There had been pain and loss in her live music, her face, since then. He brushed an errant strand of lustrous black hair from her face.

  She bit her lower lip. “It was so sudden. I . . . I always thought there was time.”

  “I lost my father suddenly earlier last year,” he heard himself saying. Her father had applauded and been proud of her. His father had turned his back on him, and had been the reason Zachary had taken his mother’s maiden name. His father hadn’t wanted the Albright name “tarnished.” As always, Zachary pushed away the hurt, the disappointment that his father had never changed his mind. As Zach’s fame had grown, so had his father’s biting censure.

  Laurel turned to him, their faces inches apart. Her hand covered his. “I’m sorry.”

  There was compassion in the beautiful black eyes staring back at him. He had been wrong about her being a snob, but he wanted the conversation to stay on her. “Thank you. You father must have been a great man.”