by CC MacKenzie
Sounded simple.
Sounded fun.
So what was the catch?
Oscar flicked Nico a leery look.
A Nico who's black brows shot into his hairline. "Well, what do you think?"
"I'm thinking it looks interesting. I'm thinking that I'm willing to compromise if you are. No TV series. But I can use the down time I'll have on Eden to put the finishing touches to the Ludlow Hall cookbook."
Nico's winning smile split his face as he rubbed his hands together with glee.
He moved around the desk.
"Eccellente!"
Oscar sent him a hard look, pointed.
"Hug me and I'll have to hurt you."
Nico tipped back his head and roared with laughter.
"Ah, il mio buon amico, I have heard there is magic in the air in Eden. Let us shake on our agreement." Oscar took his hand, sealed the deal. But Nico wasn't quite finished. "You never know, you might find amore on an island with sugar white sand, an ocean so blue it hurts the eyes." Nico wiggled his dark brows. "And do not forget night skies, dark as velvet, stars sparkling like diamonds."
Disgusted, Oscar looked to heaven for patience.
"You are my good friend, too, Nico. But for God's sake quit with the hearts and flowers. Save it for Bronte."
Oscar had a bad moment when Nico moved into him. But his good friend heeded the hug warning. Instead Nico smacked him on the back, hard enough to topple a rhino.
"Si. My wife holds my heart. One day you, too, will meet a woman worthy of your heart."
"I found her. I lost her. Don’t look at me like that, Nico. I'm happy as I am. Not everyone has your good luck."
Oscar could have kicked himself for alluding to Emma Ludlow, Bronte’s cousin, and by the look on his face, his good friend knew it, too.
Nico's dark eyes studied him carefully.
Eyes that saw too damned much.
"Enjoy yourself, bring me back a best-seller. Grazie," Nico purred.
As he recognised the self-satisfied expression on Nico's face, Oscar realised his blunder.
Shit.
Knowing the promotional pull of Nico Ferranti, the book probably would be a best-seller. Oscar's heart fell at what that success might mean for him, rounds of TV promotion, radio, and magazine interviews.
He couldn't believe he'd walked, with his eyes wide open, right into the trap.
That was Nico Ferranti all over, sneaky bastard.
"No TV," Oscar growled the warning.
Nico gave him a butter-wouldn't-melt look that he recognised too well.
"Non ti preoccupare."
"Do I look worried to you?" Oscar asked.
Nico's response was another energetic slap on the back.
Sounding like Don Corleone, Nico assured Oscar, "I have everything under control."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just bet you do."
Oscar knew when his goose was well and truly cooked.
Chapter Two
It was love at first sight when Emma saw the island of Eden. She was filled with a sense of both relief and a certainty that, at last, she'd found a safe refuge. Relief that there was a wide expanse of water between her and the nightmare that was her life. She hadn't felt safe for over three years. It had taken her two of those three years to escape from the financial, emotional and ultimately abusive trap the spider, that was her ex-husband, had spun around her.
The process of unravelling herself was ongoing. She'd put almost a thousand miles between them. But even so Emma didn't feel secure, couldn't still the dragons of anxiety and fear.
On a bad day it was all too easy to slip back into blaming herself for not really seeing Richard for what he was. A monster disguised as Mr. Normal and Nice.
No-one who looked at her, at the mask she wore each and every day, could ever imagine that she was a lost soul. She didn’t look like a woman on the run. She didn’t look like a woman teetering on the edge. Thankfully her cousin Alexander Ludlow had visited her in New York with his new wife, Rosie. And they’d seen right through the mask she wore. A mask that had slipped when Alexander had held her tight, when she’d cried like a baby in his arms, when she’d sobbed out the whole sordid and sorry mess. And right there and then, Alexander had promised to help her.
True to Alexander’s word, two weeks later she'd received the Invitation To Eden. Her fingertips had slid over the expensive parchment-like paper, the letters and information engraved on the page. The handwriting was strong and sophisticated... masculine. There was almost a military phrasing in the language used in the invitation that made it seem more like a command rather than a request. It reminded her forcibly of the one man she'd truly loved. Oscar. A man who'd been a warrior. And a man who'd put his career first, who'd turned his back on her and walked away.
She'd been left utterly bereft.
Wounded.
Vulnerable.
Six months after Oscar had left her, her mother, a woman who was on a mission to get her daughter out of the house and ‘back to normal’, had dragged Emma to a cocktail party in Washington. A party where Senator-hopeful, Richard Murray III had taken one look at her, Emma Ludlow, only daughter of the late Sir John Ludlow, British Ambassador to the United States, and decided she was his. She'd been wide-eyed, on guard, reserved. And hadn't stood a chance against a charismatic charmer with a handsome face and pale blue eyes that missed nothing.
God knew she had been charmed, flattered, and for a short time revelled in what she thought was the love of a good man.
Richard had swept her off her feet.
And Emma had lived to bitterly regret a single moment of weakness.
He'd married her within months, promised her the world, love, fidelity, a family. Like a fool, she'd fallen for every slick lie and every clever put-down. And she’d lost herself in the process. But she wouldn't think of it now. Richard was behind her and she was moving forward, moving on.
Down, but not out.
Pressing her nose against the window of the chartered hydroplane, Emma took in the stunning setting of an island surrounded by a calm blue sea, long stretches of sugar white sand, the lush green of the forest, and the jaw-dropping castle, constructed of grey granite that glittered in the sun. With its turrets and sprawling gardens, it looked as if it had been plucked straight out of the Emerald Isle and dropped into the middle of Eden.
Gorgeous.
"Fabulous, isn't it?" The young pilot yelled above the roar of the propellers.
Emma turned to Joely and couldn't help but grin. The girl was petite with light brown hair that fell in glossy waves down her back. Dark eyes, filled to the brim with mischief, danced into hers. Joely was tanned and toned and dressed in khaki shorts of crisp cotton and a black polo shirt. And she handled the plane like a pro. To be honest, Emma hadn't been crazy about the idea of flying in something the size of a large SUV, but once they were airborne she'd relaxed and sat back to enjoy the two hour trip from Miami.
Joely did a full circle of the island before straightening up to land. The plane glided down as smooth as butter on hot toast and puttered to stop at a dock bleached by the sun. The pilot jumped out and unloaded Emma's meagre possessions. Emma clung to her laptop bag as if it held the Crown Jewels. She didn't care about her clothes, but her laptop was as precious to her as a first-born.
"I'll return when your time is up. Have a great holiday," Joely grinned and leapt back into the plane.
Emma waved as the plane rose up into the sky.
Alone on the dock, she did a slow spin to take in her surroundings.
Living in Manhattan, Emma was used to humidity. But the damp heat made her wish she'd worn something lighter than skinny jeans and a white silk shirt that clung to her skin. A soft breeze stroked her face like a lover's caress, and she raised her face to the sun, inhaling the delicious scent of the sea and frangipani.
Then a tall man strode towards her. He wore black slacks and a black shirt. As he drew closer, she realised he wore a black hood that o
bscured most of his face.
"Emma," he said, as if he'd known her for years. He extended his hand. "Welcome to Eden."
His deep voice was almost hypnotic and Emma found her small hand taken in a strong grip.
So this was the elusive, Theodisius Vardalos, the Master of the island.
"Thank you for inviting me," she said.
"I love your work. The island will weave its magic through your creativity. Perhaps you'll have another best-seller on your hands."
Emma fervently hoped so because the events of the last few months had meant she'd done nothing for weeks but sit at her laptop staring at a blank page.
"It's so tranquil, so peaceful and quiet, I love it," she admitted.
Although she couldn't see his face, Emma had the feeling that he was studying her very carefully.
"You haven't had a lot of peace lately, have you Emma?" he asked softly.
She blinked. And then realised he was referring to the miles of gossip that had gleefully documented every moment of the breakdown of her marriage to a man the society columns had labelled sex-on-legs. Richard had painted himself as the confused and heartbroken husband ruthlessly abandoned by the woman he loved. Even her own mother had ignored her daughter's obvious distress and unhappiness in her marriage and had begged her to reconsider, to pull herself together, and not throw away the chance of a lifetime.
"Not a lot," she admitted with something of an understatement.
He still held her hand in his.
"Just let yourself be whatever you want to be. The island will listen to your dreams, your desires. All you have to do is imagine."
Her hand slid from his as she turned around and took time to study the castle.
"Believe me, my imagination won't be a problem in this fabulous sett..."
She spun back and he was gone.
Emma blinked.
Maybe she’d zoned out for a moment?
She did a lot of that these days.
And then a tall, slim woman appeared from the direction of the castle. Emma wondered if everyone on Eden was gorgeous. She wore loose khaki pants in a flowing silk with a matching white sleeveless top that showcased lightly tanned arms. Her name tag told Emma she was Connie Hendrickson. Her hair was a glossy dark brown and scooped off her neck. The smile she shot Emma was warm and friendly.
"Emma," she said. "Welcome to Eden. If you will come with me, I'll show you to your suite. The Master has put you in one of the tower apartments. Your bags will be brought up shortly."
"Thank you," Emma said, following her up a leafy, winding path.
As they approached the immense entrance to the castle, sliding doors opened and she stepped into a blast of blissfully cool air. The entrance hall was spectacular with dimly lit sconces decorating mirrored walls. Vast vases of clear glass held stupendous arrangements of fresh flowers.
"We've recently improved our room keys, so if you'll give me your hand," Connie said, catching her attention. She snapped a slim bracelet on Emma's wrist as she explained. "Line up the 'E' to the one on the door of your apartment and the lock releases. The bracelet will also allow you to enter the spa, gymnasium, and any other part of the resort you want to visit."
Emma thanked her, but knew she wasn't going to have a lot of time to visit the spa or the gym. She had a deadline to meet.
"The elevator to your suite is just down here." Connie gestured for her to follow and they stopped before a floor to ceiling mirror. The mirror slid to the right revealing a hidden elevator.
"Wow." Emma stepped inside and the door slid closed.
"Sensors," Connie informed her. "Align your bracelet with the Tower apartment."
Emma did as she was told and they were in motion.
Then she wondered what on earth was going to happen next.
She didn't have long to wait.
The doors opened in a smooth move.
They entered a wide hallway with two sets of double doors.
Connie indicated the wall plaque made of bronze that stated The Tower Suite.
Emma used the sensor on her bracelet to open the door.
"I hope you will be comfortable here," Connie opened the double doors, then stepped back and waited for Emma to move into the room ahead of her.
The space was vast, the walls lime-washed in a chalk white. Emma tipped back her head to study the vaulted ceiling. It was gorgeous with heavy fans of dark wood lazily stirring the breeze. The floor was an ivory marble that ran through the whole apartment. The sitting area had a rug of thick wool that matched two four seater velvet sofas the colour of fresh cranberries. A river of cushions in ivory linen matched the carefully folded throws on the arms. There was a square coffee table made of tempered glass that held a giant glass bowl overflowing with fruit. Emma wandered through the space, loving the ruthlessly modern round glass table tucked in a dining alcove that sat four. The table groaned under the weight of another huge glass bowl, this one crammed with frangipani. The scent was wondrous.
But then she spotted a U shaped desk with an ergonomically designed leather chair in what had been turned into a writing nook. The desk was set in front of a wide window with spectacular views of the sand and the sea.
Bliss.
Amazing.
"This is the perfect space for my work. Thank you so..." Emma turned to Connie to find her gone, "much," she said to the empty room.
With a shrug she went to explore. A small but functional kitchen was L shaped, kitted out with worktops in sparkly cream granite, with press-touch cupboards the colour of a frothy cappuccino. Inserted into the worktop was a four burner halogen hob with a bowl-shaped wok burner. She opened a built-in larder refrigerator, found it filled to the brim. She certainly wasn't going to starve.
When Emma entered a stunning bedroom, airy and fresh with voile drapes fluttering in a light breeze at the floor to ceiling windows, she couldn't help but grin at a bed so huge it would sleep four quite comfortably. She poked her head into a stupendous bathroom, with its towering ceilings and spectacular view of the ocean.
Then she wandered back into the sitting room and stepped through wide open French doors onto the smooth sundeck with a plunge pool, the water gin clear. With a happy sigh, Emma leaned on the balcony and just inhaled the scent of the sea mingling with jasmine and vast pots of tea roses. And for the first time in a long time, her shoulders relaxed. She kicked off her sandals, curled her toes and closed her eyes. Except for the cry of a lone gull, the ebb and flow of the soft beat of the waves, it was so very tranquil, so relaxing.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
Maybe here, in Eden, was the place where the healing could begin, where her mind would settle and she'd work uninterrupted. Emma reminded herself that she wasn't here for a holiday. She was here to find her mojo, to make a deadline. With a last lingering look at the beach and the ocean, Emma turned to organise her workspace.
Chapter Three
Forty-eight hours later, best-selling crime writer E.J. Byron, aka Emma Ludlow, sat in front of her laptop without an original thought in her lamebrain. Since it was just before dawn, she guzzled strong black coffee gone cold in the feeble hope it would kick start her creative thinking, but her mind remained as empty as the screen in front of her. Emma didn’t believe in writer’s block. She certainly didn’t believe in it on a deadline.
She was going about it the wrong way, Emma decided as she carefully selected a green M&M candy from the glass bowl sitting at her elbow. Green was for go. She tossed the candy into her mouth and crunched. Her outline for the story was printed out on paper. The plotline, too. She had a sentence to begin the scene structure in her head. But no luck. Maybe a change of routine would nudge something loose. She'd already, with the help of a yoga DVD, tried that by standing on her head for ten minutes. Apparently blood surge to the brain was a failsafe way of kicking the muse up the ass.
It didn't work.
And she wasn’t working either.
Maybe she should light
a scented candle.
Maybe she'd wait until twilight.
Candles in the dark would set the mood, set the scene.
Maybe meditation was the answer.
Sounded like a plan.
So she clicked on her iTunes account and selected Utopian Sounds, they always worked for her muse. In the past, she'd never had a problem in believing in, or working towards, an out of body experience.
Closing her eyes, Emma took a deep breath in through her nose and out her mouth, and tried to float around the astral plane chanting,
"Mind awake. Body asleep."
Ten minutes later.
Nothing.
It appeared the universe was busy with more important things today.
Emma opened her eyes again and stared at the screen, the blank screen.
With an editor who was an evil witch, a talented witch, like Susie Phillips, she couldn't afford to claim writer's block because Susie would just bitch slap her and tell her to, 'Get the hell on with it!'
Tired of herself, Emma reached for another green M&M.
She needed to do something physical, a diversion, a change of scene.
Eden was gorgeous, but she’d buried herself in her room stubbornly determined to write and achieving bugger all. To Emma's way of thinking, her subconscious was telling her to take some beach time. She wasn't making the most of Eden, was she? And by not making the most of it, her mind was rebelling.
A healthy body, her yogini told her, meant a healthy mind.
Words to live by.
As Emma strolled into the bedroom, she caught sight of herself in the massive mirror that leaned against the wall. She was vertically challenged, nothing she could do about that. But she was perfectly proportioned, had a tight little body made that way by the hours she spent with light weights and resistance bands. As a girl she'd been painfully shy, laughably skinny, though she'd eaten enough (according to her late father) for a starving trucker. The ragging about her shyness, her height, hadn't bothered her too much until she'd found boys. Boys who, without exception, treated her as if she was their fragile little sister, their best little pal. At the time she'd had the muscle-tone of a tea-leaf. So, with the quiet focus and a persistence she'd been born with, Emma had altered what could be altered. It had taken her a year of stretching, muscle toning, and plenty of sweat to make herself physically strong, but she'd done it. These days she tried very hard not to take her body for granted and worked it as regularly as she did her brain.
