MONTANA SKY 07.5: Angel In Paradise

by Debra Holland

  So, he restrained himself, giving her a purposely lazy smile. “Hello, Angel Howard. Vacationing on Seeker’s Island, are you?”

  “Do I look like I’m playing tourist, Raphael Flanigan?” she said with a snap to her tone.

  “Well,” he drawled, baiting her for the pleasure of watching her color rise. “You do look a might overdressed for our little island. I hope you brought a bikini. I recall you looking mighty sexy in one. Why don’t you go change, and we’ll—.”

  “I’m quite comfortable, thank you,” she said crisply, pulling a folder from her briefcase. “I’ve brought something for you to sign. “

  Yep, part of the family business.

  “As soon as you do, I’ll be out of your life.”

  Maybe I don’t want you out of my life. The thought shocked him. To buy himself time, Rafe held up a hand in a stopping motion. “I’m not signing anything.”

  “But, Rafe, this is important. Your family—”

  “I don’t want to hear about it. Not one more word, Angel. Or I’ll toss you out of here on your pretty little ass.”

  “My ass isn’t little,” she muttered.

  “Turn around and let me see.” He made a twirling motion with his finger.

  Pink flooded her dusky cheeks.

  Well, one thing hadn’t changed. Rafe could still make her blush. The rose color seeping into her skin did something to his innards—an effect she’d often had on him. He wrenched his gaze from her and stared blindly out the window, memories and old longings flooding him. God help me. Now that she’s here, I can’t let her go again.

  ~~~

  At the first sight of her former love, Angel caught her breath on a skipped heartbeat.

  Rafe wore a loud Hawaiian shirt patterned with hibiscus flowers, shorts, and flip-flops. His dark hair was long and loose to his shoulders, and he looked like a throwback to the photo of his great-great grandfather Seth Flanigan that hung in the town library.

  He sat in a chair, his long, tanned legs stretched out on top of the desk, looking at a view of the ocean instead of at her. Granted the view was a beautiful sight, but Angelina didn’t have time to wait. She wanted to be on the next ferry off the island, signed documents in hand.

  At Rafe’s bikini comment, she struggled to suppress the sudden memory of them swimming in the icy pool at the bottom of Flanigan Falls, their passionate embraces. “Rafe,” she said, keeping her tone even. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “You don’t look busy,” she said with a pointed look at his legs.

  “I’m working.”

  He might be right. In school, Rafe was prone to stare out the window during most of class. She couldn’t even count the times an exasperated teacher would snap a question at him, and Rafe would fire off the correct answer, then return to window gazing. She’d always admired his nonchalant attitude. But now, hot and sticky, overdressed in her suit, she felt a belated sympathy for their teachers and made a mental note to send them all cards of appreciation when she returned to New York.

  The phone on his desk rang. Rafe ignored it.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  He didn’t even look away from the window. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message. I might, or might not, listen and get back to them…eventually.”

  No wonder he hadn’t returned Dad’s calls. She gave an exacerbated shake of her head. “I can’t believe you.”

  He flicked her a glance. His face was leaner than he’d been at eighteen, more chiseled. His eyes, those Flanigan eyes, gray with a black circle around the irises, looked inscrutable, although his tone sounded friendly.

  Inexplicably, Angelina missed the affection she’d always seen when he’d looked at her—at least, when they’d grown old enough to have a crush on each other.

  She glanced toward the cubbyholes on the side wall above his desk and saw a stack of familiar envelopes. Annoyed, Angelina walked to them, heels clicking on the white tiled floor, and pulled out the envelopes. A glance revealed her father’s stationery. She waved them in his face. “I can’t believe you didn’t at least open these so you’d know what you’re ignoring.”

  “Not interested.” His gaze heated, traveled over her.

  But he’s definitely interested in me. Angelina wondered if she could use that to her advantage—charm the signature out of him.

  “I’m serious, Angel.” He softened his voice. “Why don’t you stay a while? Look at you,” he said gently. “You look stressed out and pale.”

  “Raphael Flanigan,” she said in a warning tone. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get back to my office in New York.”

  “New York?” he said, surprise in his tone.

  “I work for Elland & Kirkus. I’m here as a favor for my father.”

  “No wonder you’re so pale. What do you work? Sixty hours a week?”

  Her laugh held no humor. “More like eighty.”

  “What happened to working with your father?”

  “I became ambitious.” And look where it got me.

  ~~~

  Rafe had distanced himself from memories of Angelina, or so he’d thought. When he’d left Sweetwater Springs, almost a year had passed before he’d reconciled himself to the idea she’d cut him off; more years than that to get over the hurt. But seeing a flash of pain in her eyes at the mention of her job softened him. He wasn’t about to sign those papers, but Rafe sensed Angel needed Seeker’s Island. “Sounds like you’ve come to the right place,” he said in a light tone. “Do you know we have a magical pool on this island?” Not that he believed the tale. But he needed to do something about her sadness. “Grants your wishes.”

  “Rafe, be serious. I have to get back.”

  “All right, not your wishes, your heart’s desires. And not to everyone. Just special people.” He slung his feet off the desk and stood. “I’ll take you for a drive, Angel. On Seeker’s Island, we don’t talk business until after the sun sets.”

  Angel glanced at her watch.

  Rafe could almost see the wheels turning in her brain as Angel estimated how long she needed to persuade him to sign her paperwork. You’re in for a long stay, Angel Baby. But he knew better than to say anything. He’d have to toss out breadcrumbs in such a way as to make Miss Smarty Lawyer fall for his trick. For although he didn’t want to examine why, Rafe wanted to keep her here.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Angelina closed the door to the bathroom, shutting out the sight of Rafe. She leaned back against the wood to catch her breath and still her heartbeat where that infuriating man couldn’t see the impact he had on her. The bathroom was surprisingly roomy, with a white quartz counter edged in navy-blue tile, over a mahogany cabinet containing an oval sink, and a toilet in one corner and a shower in the other.

  I’m still dangerously attracted to him.

  That thought was enough to make Angelina push away from the door and strive for control—or at least a semblance of control. After Rafe had left her, she’d worked too long and too hard healing the aching wound he’d dealt her heart—trying to, if not forget, then file him away.

  I’m here on business. As soon as Rafe signs those papers, I’m leaving.

  She set her briefcase on the sink. Might as well get comfortable. Casual and relaxed might work better with Rafe than formal lawyer. Not that I can relax around him.

  Stepping out of her heels with a sigh of relief, Angelina stripped off her clothing and neatly folded the suit, leaving them on the counter. The cool tile soothed her sore feet. She donned her shorts and a tank, then pulled on the ankle socks and tennis shoes.

  A glance in the mirror made Angelina wrinkle her nose. Rafe was right about her being paler than normal. She appeared drained, haggard. Had he seen her that way? Old taunts about her “mongrel” heritage tried to burrow into her thoughts, but she squelched them with a shake of her head.

  Well, since she’d be
staying a little longer on this tropical island than she’d planned…catching the evening instead of the afternoon ferry, she’d get a little time in the sun. Showing up at the law firm tomorrow with some color wouldn’t be bad.

  Yet if ten minutes with Raphael Flanigan had shaken her, broken open a tightly-contained core of pain, what might happen if she spent several hours in his presence?

  I can do this! Angelina took another bracing breath, then opened the bathroom door, and stepped out.

  Rafe was just hanging up the phone, and the sound of the door made him look her way. His eyes widened, and his lips turned up, just the tiniest bit. “That’s better.”

  Angelina was immediately lost in his compelling gaze. She looked away, unwilling to get pulled back into their attraction.

  “Let’s head for the inn. Have you been there yet?”

  She shook her head. “I came straight here. No need to check into the hotel. I won’t be here overnight.”

  He shot her a grin. “Won’t matter anyway. Sunseekers’ Inn is full up. A big, fancy wedding.”

  Another reason to catch the evening ferry, or I might end up staying with him.

  “One of my carriages is parked in front of the inn. I just called the driver to wait for us.”

  They strolled out the door and down the wooden path she’d walked up earlier, but instead of turning toward the ferry, he led her in the opposite direction.

  Her gaze fell on a sign obviously posted as a warning for ignorant tourists.

  BEWARE!

  HORSES, EVEN THE LITTLE ONES,

  MAY KICK OR BITE!

  THANK YOU!

  Rafe hadn’t strayed far from his roots, she decided.

  The livery consisted of a weathered gray wooden barn painted with blue trim, some small outbuildings, and a tiny cottage in the same color. She looked up at Rafe, whose sunglasses covered his eyes. “Cobalt? A little unusual color for a stable, don’t you think?”

  A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Not on Seeker’s Island. When I first arrived, the livery was turquoise…faded turquoise. Now that was a little much.”

  Angelina chuckled, then realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. Certainly she must have smiled recently, but she’d been too worried about her father and caught up in the stress of work to feel light-hearted.

  “I converted the chicken house to staff quarters for my driver. Two college girls who work for me in the summer live in the cottage. They’re in charge of the kids’ parties with the miniature horses and also during the hours of the petting zoo.”

  “Petting zoo?”

  “Not quite a zoo. But kids sure do like the minis.”

  “I remember. When you’re small, a horse that’s your size is just perfect.”

  Rafe took her hand, as if casually leading her past the stables, and walked toward the direction of town. But the touch of their hands felt anything but casual.

  Not wanting to make a scene, Angelina didn’t pull away, although she couldn’t help liking the feel of her hand in his calloused one. She had an increasingly hard time keeping an emotional distance and wondered if she had the same effect on him that he did on her.

  They reached a large corral edged by trees. Five sorrel-and-white Paint horses and two foals, interspersed with six similar patterned miniature horses, lazed in the shade. Their coats gleamed more orange than dark copper.

  Angelina caught her breath at the sight. “You still have your Paints?”

  “At least I held on to part of my dream.” Rafe’s tone was wry. “Stuck to producing orange Overos.”

  “I’m glad,” she murmured, thinking about their last conversation so long ago, when they’d shared their cherished dreams, only to have them shattered hours later.

  “What about you, Angel?”

  “I guess you can say that I held on to part of my dreams—the lawyer part—too.”

  They reached the wooden corral and stopped to observe the horses.

  “Took awhile to get that light color for the minis. I still breed for confirmation, personality, and color.”

  “They’re so bright and cute.” She was especially taken with the mini stallion. The small horse faced her direction, his light-colored tail and mane blowing in the breeze, two blue eyes fixed on Angelina as if hoping she’d produce a treat. “I don’t think our ancestors would recognize them.”

  “Nope. The minis are no longer the Falabella breed that came from Argentina.” He pulled on her hand. “If we stop to say howdy, we’ll never leave.”

  Would that be so bad? Angelina banished the traitorous thought. She gave him a rueful smile. “I guess you’re right.” Reluctantly, she walked on.

  They reached a road, and the wooded walkway turned into a concrete sidewalk. They passed quaint stores, the buildings looking as if they’d been on the island for ages. Probably had.

  Rafe pointed to a two-story building with a porch and a balcony. The sign said Paradise Ice Cream Parlor. People sat at bistro tables on the broad, white porch. One skinny man, leaning against the carved support post, had an ice cream cone in each hand.

  Watching him lick first one cone then the other gave Angelina an immediate craving for chocolate. She wished for the skinny guy’s metabolism.

  Rafe nudged her. “The former whorehouse. Now the ice cream parlor’s downstairs and living quarters are upstairs.”

  “Still housing wicked indulgences.”

  Rafe chuckled. “That they are. The ice cream here has won awards. People come from the mainland just to get a sugar high.” He steered her inside and held open the screened door.

  “You’ll have to taste for yourself.”

  Angelina stepped across the threshold and was assaulted by the smell of sugar. A long laminate counter ran across the right side of the room. People perched on high stools in front of it. The left half held the glass-fronted freezer with the ice cream. A staircase to the upper floor was in the back.

  Rafe slid his sunglasses on the top of his head and leaned closer. “An ice cream cone is mandatory when you visit Seeker’s Island. It primes you for the magic.”

  She nudged him, trying not to giggle. “Don’t be silly.”

  He approached the gangly teenager behind the freezer and told him, “One Rocky Road for the lady, and one Pumpkin Spice for me.”

  He remembered. Angelina was amazed. Odd how some things hadn’t faded over the years. She didn’t know how she felt about that…what she wanted Rafe to recall about her.

  Rafe handed over some money, accepted the two cones, and gave Angelina hers.

  She took a lick and almost moaned at the taste of the rich sweetness. How long had it been since I’ve eaten ice cream? She stopped to think. At least a year.

  Rafe’s gaze didn’t leave her face. His tongue slid around the side of the ice cream ball. As she watched in fascination, shivers raced down her spine, and not from the cold of the Rocky Road. Rafe made eating an ice cream a sensual experience.

  Angelina decided to give him a taste of his own medicine, or in this case, ice cream. She looked at him from under her eyelashes, sending him a seductive smile. Her tongue played over the top surface, then she bit into a marshmallow with her front teeth,

  His smoky gaze smoldered.

  She held in a smile and lowered her eyelids, feeling the power of her femininity.

  The screen door banged open. Several teenage boys entered, jostling each other.

  Rafe took Angelina’s free arm, steered her around the gang, and escorted her outside.

  They continued down the sidewalk, past a surf shop and a bakery, the yeasty smell of bread drifting into the air. They strolled across the driveway of Sunseekers’ Inn. The yellow Victorian, with a turret on each side and tropical-print cushions on the porch furniture, beckoned her to linger for a while.

  If only I were here on vacation. She slanted a look up at Rafe. Without the company of a stubborn Flanigan. But even as she thought the words, deep down Angelina wished she could be
here under entirely different circumstances—ones featuring hot sun, a cool ocean, and Rafe’s strong hands playing over her body.

  Stop, she chastened herself. I have a job to do.

  A white carriage with turquoise leather seats was parked in front of the picket fence under the shade of the trees, the top folded back. Instead of the expected brown or black horse, a Paint stood between the shafts. She admired how the orange coat, splashed with white, gleamed like a new penny in the sun.

  “He’s a descendant of Sassy and Cass.”

  Nostalgia caught Angelina in a grip. She and Rafe had taken many a ride over the ranches and wilderness of Sweetwater Springs, part of a posse of close-knit friends from the time they first put a headstall on their ponies. “They’re beautiful. I’m amazed you kept up with your breeding program.”

  Pride lit his face. “Albeit on a smaller scale than I’d planned. Don’t have the expanse of land here. I sell the Paints to the rich on the mainland.”

  “They look valuable.”

  “More so than in Montana. Course, with the Internet, we can sell all over. But I don’t like to ship my stock long distances. Travel’s hard on them.”

  They reached the carriage. The driver, an attractive man with sun-streaked brown hair, bottle-green eyes, and a rich tan, looked to be in his late twenties. He sketched Rafe a salute.

  Rafe nodded. “Meet Chip Brockman. Driver and groom. He’s been with me for the last three years. Chip, this is Angel Howard, an old friend of mine.”

  “Angelina,” she corrected.

  One of Rafe’s eyebrows pulled up. “Angelina Howard.”

  Chip flashed a cocky grin. “Didn’t think you had any old friends, boss. Especially pretty ones.”

  “I didn’t either.” Rafe led her over to the horse and ran a hand over the white patch on the animal’s neck. “Meet Abigail.”