Moon Over Montego Bay

by Jane Graves

  “Of course I did! Your brother is family. I couldn’t not invite him. Everyone would say I’m the one with the grudge!” She took a deep, calming breath, which didn’t seem to calm her in the least. “When he didn’t RSVP, I assumed he wasn’t coming.”

  “Since when does he pay attention to things like RSVPs?” Randall’s mouth tightened with annoyance. “So what are we going to do now?”

  “Pray he’s grown up and behaves like an adult. That’s all we can do.”

  Sarah had heard vague stories about Randall’s younger brother, but they were sketchy on details, and they’d been related in hushed tones, as if he was a convict on death row or a junkie lying half dead in an inner city gutter. She still didn’t know where he lived or what kind of work he did. But from what she’d been able to gather, he was the black sheep of their snowy-white herd of upright, highly successful, socially correct family members, and merely acknowledging his existence besmirched the Baxter name.

  Mona put her hand on Randall’s forearm. “When you see him…please. Don’t cause a scene.”

  “As if I’m the one who causes scenes?”

  “You know what I mean. I’ve worked myself senseless on this wedding. If your brother ruins it—“

  “He’s not going to ruin anything. I’ll see to that.”

  Mona nodded like a bobblehead doll. Randall signaled the waiter, who brought her a glass of water. She sipped it nervously, flicking her eyes back and forth as if she was on the lookout for a serial killer. What the hell was going on? Was Nicholas Baxter an alias for Hannibal Lecter?”

  Randall turned to Sarah. “When are your bridesmaids getting in?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Warn them. If he tries to talk to them, they need to walk the other way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s bad news. And your parents. Don’t leave them alone with him. You never know what he’s up to.”

  “You really think he’ll cause a problem at his own brother’s wedding?”

  “Oh, he’ll cause a problem. Bank on it.”

  Sarah felt a shiver of worry. “I don’t get it. What exactly do you think he’ll do?”

  “There’s no telling. There’s no point in even trying to guess, because he’ll fool you every time. God only knows how much crazier he’s become in the past three years.”

  “Three years? Is that how long it’s been since you last saw him?”

  “He came to my office asking for money. He knew our father wouldn’t even consider it, so he thought he’d hit me up. Something about some business opportunity. Like I’m going to hand my crazy, irresponsible brother fifty thousand dollars?” Randall made a scoffing noise. “I might as well flush it down a toilet.”

  “Oh, my dear Lord,” Mona said, looking past them to the courtyard bar. “There he is.”

  Sarah whipped around. A solitary man sat with his back to them, talking to one of the cocktail waitresses. He wore cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a red T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. He held a beer in one hand, with one foot casually perched on the barstool beside him. He must have said something funny to the waitress, because she giggled a little, then twirled a strand of her long, dark hair around her finger.

  “He’s drinking,” Randall muttered. “This is not good.”

  The strangest shiver of recognition skated across the back of Sarah’s neck, but the pieces of her memory weren’t coming together. A moment later, as if he knew he was being watched, the man slowly turned on his barstool. When she saw his face, she just about fainted dead away.

  Memories filled Sarah's mind, tumbling wildly over each other. On the first day of her annual four-day stay in Park City, Utah to attend the Sundance Film Festival, a sexy stranger had taken the seat next to her. When the film was over and the lights came up, he slowly turned around. The moment their eyes met, it was as if the roof opened up and lightning sizzled down from the heavens, striking her senseless. Then he tilted his head, and in a voice as smooth as hot caramel, he said the strangest thing.

  “Have you ever seen blue ice?”

  She told him she hadn’t.

  “It happens when snow falls on a glacier. Your eyes…they’re exactly that color.”

  Before she could roll those blue eyes to let him know she hadn’t been born yesterday, he added, “And before you ask…no, I don’t say that to all the girls.”

  Then he gave her a smile that could have melted that glacier. In spite of the common sense that told her he was just very good at seduction, her cynicism faded. She’d never—not once in her life—fallen into bed with a man she’d just met, but Nick was like a drug she couldn’t get enough of.

  The days that followed were filled with smiles and laughter, the nights with the kind of sinful sex she’d only dreamed about, a wild, three-day, hedonistic sexfest that would put a porn star to shame. He pushed her to heights of pleasure she’d never experienced, making her want to do things so far outside her comfort zone she was afraid she’d never find her way back in.

  He’d never mentioned his last name, and she’d never asked. Sarah was all she’d told him, too. It had been part of the fantasy that had unfolded, giving her the opportunity to become an entirely different woman for few wildly exciting days.

  But when she woke before dawn that last morning, reality set in. Nick was wrong for her. So damned wrong. If her decent, hardworking, God-fearing parents had seen their ultraconservative daughter tossing back tequila shots, singing karaoke at the top of her lungs, and having sex on a patio, in a jacuzzi tub, and in the backseat of a car on a deserted country road—they'd have had heart failure. Add that to the fact that she worked for a nonprofit—a nonprofit that benefitted children—and she'd really sinned. She'd acted like precisely the kind of cheap tramp that good parents warned their kids to stay away from.

  Her exhilaration turned to shame and self-recrimination, and all she wanted to do was run. So she left a vague note and slipped out of his apartment, vowing to go home to Houston and forget the sexy stranger who had never gotten around to mentioning his last name, but his first name was Nick.

  Nicholas.

  Nicholas Baxter.

  How could this be happening?

  She’d met Randall for the first time on that flight back to Houston. A glitch had landed her in a first-class seat rather than coach, and she'd turned to see Randall sitting next to her. She'd felt as if the universe had put him right in her path, giving her the antidote to the poison she told herself Nick was. Only now that poison was here in person, and if he told his family what had happened between them in Park City, they’d stone her to death in the town square.

  Then Nick grabbed his beer and rose from his barstool.

  No, no, no! Do not come over here!

  Sarah felt as if her windpipe had collapsed and she couldn’t catch a breath. She could, however, already feel those stones whizzing through the air. Nick made his way along the courtyard and then climbed the steps to the restaurant with the casual grace of a man totally comfortable with himself, chatting briefly with the hostess before continuing toward them. Sarah’s heart beat so wildly she was surprised she wasn’t slipping straight into heart failure. At least if she landed in ICU, the Baxter family might postpone judgment day.

  Randall and Mona watched Nick approach with rigid posture and close-mouthed disapproval, neither of them saying a word. He set his beer at the empty place setting at the table.

  “Mom, Randall,” he said as he sat. “Long time, no see.”

  “Nicholas,” Mona said, hissing under her breath, “this restaurant has a dress code.”

  “Oh, crap,” Nick said. “And me without my tuxedo.” He turned to Sarah and offered her his hand. “Hi, there. I’m Nick. Randall’s brother. You must be Sarah.”

  She felt a rush of hope. Was it possible he didn’t recognize her?

  No. Nobody’s memory was that bad.

  Then again, maybe she was just a face in a very crowded field of women he
’d been with over the years, and that face didn’t ring a bell. After all, it had been over a year ago. It slashed her ego to shreds to think he might have forgotten, but right about then her ego was the last thing she cared about.

  She took his hand. It felt warm. Strong. Then she thought about how his hands had felt on the rest of her, from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. It had been good. Great. Spectacular.

  This was wrong. So wrong. She was sitting there next to her fiance thinking about what his brother’s hands felt like, but she couldn’t stop her brain from remembering, her nerves from firing, and her heart from beating like a big, brass drum. And her eyes. As she looked at Nick, she felt as if her eyes were open so wide her eyeballs were going to fall out of her head and go rolling into the ocean.

  Nick shook her hand, holding onto it just a fraction longer than he should have. Or was that her imagination? Finally he let it go and turned away, picking up his beer.

  She held her breath. As unbelievable as it was, maybe he really didn’t recognize her. Maybe she and Randall could get married and live together for the next fifty years, and she’d be nothing more to Nick than the wife of the brother it appeared he didn't get along with, and they could all go about their business without this “I had sex with your brother” thing hanging over her head. By all indications, Nick showed up only once every few years, anyway, and the further they got away from the Weekend of Lust, the less likely he was to put two and two together.

  No problem, mon.

  Then Nick tilted his head questioningly. “Sarah?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  He leaned toward her with a small, knowing smile. “Have you ever seen blue ice?”

  Her heart jolted.

  “It happens when snow falls on a glacier,” he said. “Your eyes…”

  No! Stop right there. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it!

  “…are exactly that color. And before you ask, no, I don’t say that to all the girls.”

  So there it was. He remembered, and she was screwed.

  3

  “Nick?” Randall said. “Do you see that ring on her finger?”

  Nick looked at Sarah’s left hand and let out a low whistle. “Nice. That must have really set you back.”

  “What it means is that you watch what you say to her.”

  “Take it easy, bro’. No need to get all territorial. Just stating a fact. Her eyes are exactly the color of blue ice.”

  Sarah’s fingertips went numb. Evidently her heart was shoving every bit of her blood supply to her brain to help it figure a way out of this mess, but still nothing was coming to her. She knew she needed to get a grip, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Nick in ways that would make a street whore blush. Randall had to know. One glance should tell him something was going on between her and Nick. Wouldn’t a man know if his fiancee was picturing another man naked, particularly his own brother?

  Oh, God. She was dying here. Dying.

  And Mona. The woman had super hearing, x-ray vision, and all those other powers that allowed her to stick her nose into any situation and ferret out the truth. Any moment now she was going to leap to her feet and declare her future daughter in law a harlot of the highest order, then banish her from the family before she’d even had a chance to become part of it.

  Just as they’d apparently banished Nick.

  “What are you doing here?” Randall asked.

  “My big brother is getting married. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “I don’t believe we received your RSVP.”

  “Well, you know the post office.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Fine,” Nick said. “Go ahead. Talk.”

  “Randall,” Mona said under her breath. “Don’t make a scene.”

  “I’m not the one who walked in here looking like a beach bum.”

  Mona turned to Nick. “Perhaps you should change clothes.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nick said, picking up his beer. “Can’t stay. There’s a magician performing in the lounge in ten minutes. Sure wouldn’t want to miss something that exciting.” He turned to Sarah with a smile. “But we’ll be seeing each other around, I’m sure.”

  “You’ll be seeing me first,” Randall said.

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “I will?”

  “You and I are teeing off at eight in the morning at Cinnamon Hill.”

  “Oh, we are? I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Nothing like golf in Jamaica. Sea breeze, ocean view…”

  “Sorry, bro’. Golf’s not my game.”

  “You were on the high school golf team.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “All the more reason to reacquaint yourself with the game.”

  Sarah waited for Nick to grow angry or irritated, to display some kind of indication that he resented the invitation that was clearly a command. Instead, a strangely cheerful smile crept across his face.

  “Sure, Randall. Golf. Can’t wait.”

  With that, Nick rose from the table and left the restaurant. Sarah was relieved he was gone, but she still had a problem. Nick would be spending hours on the golf course with Randall tomorrow morning, and she still didn’t know his motive for showing up there out of the blue. If it was to get back at his brother for the past grievances they clearly shared, she couldn’t imagine much time passing before he dropped that nuclear bomb.

  “He hasn’t changed,” Randall said. “I’m telling you he’s up to no good.” He grabbed his napkin, snapping it angrily in the air and then sticking it in his lap.

  “Well, we just have to deal with him,” Mona said stoically, gently unfolding her napkin even though it was clear she’d rather tear it to shreds.

  Randall yanked up his menu. “He will not disrupt this wedding. I’ll see to that.”

  Sarah wanted to shout, I still don’t understand! What terrible things has Nick done that have everybody in such a snit? But should she really be maintaining the focus on the one person who could open his mouth and ruin her life? He might be keeping their secret for now. But would he keep it forever?

  By the time they left the restaurant, it was past eight. Mona announced that she had a splitting headache and retired to her suite. Randall said he really needed to work for a while, and that was fine by Sarah, who felt a headache of her own coming on. When they reached the hall leading to the wing of the resort where Sarah’s room was, Randall gave her an absentminded kiss and started to walk away, but there was something she wanted to know even if it did open a gigantic can of worms.

  “Randall?”

  He turned back.

  “If you don't get along with Nick, why did you invite him to play golf tomorrow morning?”

  “You know what they say. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer."

  "Enemy? Your own brother?"

  "I'm going to have a word with him.”

  “About what?”

  “My expectations for his behavior while he’s here.”

  “How is he going to feel about that?”

  Randall and stared at her strangely, as if the question made no sense. “Irrelevant. This is my wedding. I’m calling the shots.”

  And then strode away.

  As Sarah headed for her suite, she felt the strangest sense of irritation. In the short time she’d been with Nick, he’d been nothing but kind and sweet and funny, so she couldn’t imagine what he might have done to make his entire family turn on him. She could also add sexy, provocative, and hotter than hell to that list and still not begin to describe him. How could her perception of him be so radically different from his family's?

  She went to her room, telling herself everything was going to be okay, but her stress level was rising with every breath she took. Outside her suite, the ocean called to her, the soft swish of waves tumbling onto the beach. It was hell to be in paradise without being able to enjoy it because she was afraid her life was going to blow up before her very eyes.

 
; Relax…relax…relax…

  She went to the glass door and slid it open, intending to sit on a lounge, listen to the surf, and let Montego Bay work its magic. But as she walked onto the balcony, she sensed something wasn't right. She stopped, sweeping her gaze from left to right, her heart suddenly pounding.

  Then she saw it. A large shadow. She was on the verge of leaping back inside, slamming the door and shoving down the lock when a low, melodic voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Hi, Sarah.”

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized a man was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, his feet up, his ankles crossed.

  "Nick? My God. You scared me to death!"

  "Sorry. Didn't mean to."

  "Didn't mean to? You're sitting out here in the dark. What did you expect would happen when I saw you?"

  "You'd say, 'Hi, Nick. It's great to see you.'"

  "How did you get into my suite?"

  "I didn't."

  "You're on my balcony. You had to have gone through my room to get there."

  "We'll talk about that later. First let's talk about us."

  "There is no us."

  "Beg to differ," Nick said. "We're together, and not for the first time. That makes us us."

  "You have to leave. If Randall sees you here—"

  "He won't. He's probably off playing with his spreadsheets or counting his money. And since you're not staying together, I'd say we're in no danger."

  "How do you know we're not staying together?" Then it struck her. "Did you go through the things in my room?"

  He laughed. "No, Sarah. I told you I haven't been in your room. Your balcony door was locked, wasn't it?"

  "Then how—"

  "It was my mother's idea, wasn't it?" Nick said. "You and Randall staying in separate suites?"

  When Sarah didn't respond, he shook his head. “My mother is a prude, and Randall does whatever she wants him to." Nick's gaze narrowed, then drifted down to her breasts. It lingered there a moment, then slowly rose to meet her eyes again. “I wouldn't allow anyone on earth to tell me I couldn't sleep with you."

  Those words. That voice. Even now the memories made blood rush to Sarah's head, and it was all she could do not to fling herself into his arms. Just the fact that she was having those thoughts made her feel guilty all over again.