“Testy, aren’t we? I’m just giving you the facts and calling it as I see it. Myrtle Beach is a huge market for high-end escorts.”
“She’s not like that!”
“How can you be sure?”
There was silence on both ends then Garrett clipped out, “That’s what I pay you for.”
“Then I need to get some eyes on her. I can have someone there in 48 hours.”
More silence.
“No. Let’s wait on that.”
He thought about the stories, the way she told them
. . . her curious but otherwise healthy attitude toward men. “My gut tells me otherwise. Although I can see why a man would pay a small fortune to keep her, I don’t see her as being kept. Let’s just hang back for a while. I’ll let you know if I want her watched.”
“You’re the boss.”
“You’re giving me things to think about. Things that I don’t like.”
“It’s my job.”
“Well stop doing it so fucking well!” He pushed the disconnect button and sat on a barstool staring out at the churning ocean. No. She wasn’t a whore. His instincts couldn’t be that far off. But Callie, and her character from the first story he’d read, came to mind. And she tanned topless. Damn, she’d better not be a stripper either.
Chapter Thirty-one
The day was exceptional, Laurel thought, as she watered her plants before leaving for her ride with the group. She’d awakened eager and excited about seeing Bald Head Island. She’d never been there and had heard so many wonderful things. The fact that the day was breaking so beautifully was a bonus, as it had stormed the last two evenings. But God, how she’d loved storms. Both nights she’d stood in front of her windows watching the show unfold, jumping back twice when the green behind her house lit up like daylight.
She picked up her scissors and grabbed the fistful of flowers she’d cut. She loved to have fresh flowers in the house, but always brought them inside and put them in water in the laundry room first so she could use the misting sprayer to wash off any bugs. Right now she was anxious to get started, she didn’t want to be late as she promised Sandy that she’d pick her and her bike up. They often rode together on these excursions and carpooling gave them time to catch up.
Sandy was a good friend, but working in the non-profit field and managing the ins and outs of fund raising kept her on the road a lot. They often ate out when she was in town, laughing and drinking wine while rating the men they saw in the bars. Sandy was more outgoing, so they often had friends overflowing their tables, but Laurel didn’t even try to keep up with her. Sandy was a girl on fire and could not stand to sit in one position long. She was often reminded of her own career and the long workdays she’d put in. And she could honestly say she didn’t miss that life. She just missed the part about not having a family. Not having anyone to come home to, not having a special someone who cared whether she came home or not.
And as usual, when she got to Sandy’s house, she was rushing around doing six things at once. A master multi-tasker, Laurel watched as Sandy fed her cats, bagged up her recycling for them to drop off, loaded her bike onto Laurel’s bike rack, packed some snacks and answered four text messages.
“Good God, Sandy, do you ever just do one thing?” Laurel had watched movies with Sandy at her house and she’d be a blur of movement as she answered her phone, poured wine, fixed popcorn, washed fruit, set out crackers and cheese, talked, listened with full on intensity, and tried to figure out the cable remote. Only with a glass of wine under her belt was she finally able to relax and melt into her buttery soft leather sofa and slow down. For both of them, a nice cabernet was a signal for the day to be done and the winding down of night to begin.
Today was going to be different though, she could tell as Sandy looked down at her Blackberry and read the message on the screen. “Oh Laurel, I got the contract I’ve been working on! They want to sign today. I have to conference call my team. I am so sorry. Do you mind going on your own? This is just too important to put off. This contract is going to make my year!”
Laurel smiled and hugged her. “Of course not. Congratulations! That’s wonderful news. I know you’ve been worried about this deal for weeks. We can ride another time. Here, help me get your bike off, then you can go do what you have to. I’ll be fine—there’s plenty of people riding today, I’m sure I can find someone to partner with.”
“Laurel, you’re always so understanding when my plans change or when I just pop in on you.”
“I understand you’re a working woman and that many people have constraints on your time, so don’t give it another thought. I only hate that you’re going to be stuck inside while I’m out enjoying this beautiful day.”
Sandy laughed, “Well that’s the beautiful thing about conference calling from my Blackberry, I can do it anywhere. I just might seal this deal on my deck!”
The bike was unstrapped and lifted off, and after another hug, Laurel got back in her CRV and pulled out of Sandy’s driveway. She was tempted to scrap the bike ride and go to the pool or just hang out at the house, and was actually very close to pulling back into the plantation as she passed the gates, but she thought of her mother and father and of all the wonderful times they’d had as a family biking together. So she continued on, driving to the ferry station in Southport while she listened to her favorite Il Divo CD.
Chapter Thirty-two
As was his habit, he was early arriving at Deep Point Marina in Southport. His whole life he’d only been late a handful of times. He prided himself on his organizational skills and the fact that he had the uncanny ability to wake before the alarm if he had something scheduled. He couldn’t take credit for that this morning though. He’d been so excited about meeting Laurel, about having the opportunity to actually talk to her and see her up close that he’d hardly slept. At four he’d given up. He’d gotten up to shower and to do a test ride around the island in the predawn light just to make sure his new bike was in working order. It would be lame for a tire to go flat or for a chain to slip. He wanted everything to be perfect today. So despite his confidence in Steve from Island Hoppers, he rode the perimeter of the island, enjoying the sunrise from many aspects, and stopping to absorb the serenity he was sharing with the egrets foraging at the edge of the marshes.
At the port, he bought his ticket and put his bike in the corralled section for the nine o’clock ferry. Then he found a railing near the entrance to lean against and watched as both people and bikes were offloaded, while also watching the parking lot fill up. His eyes flicked back and forth, checking out each new arrival. He was looking for a particular Honda, a gold CRV. Courtesy of his researcher, he had her license plate memorized should there be more than one.
People clad in the requisite bike gear along with the bumblebee yellow t-shirt symbolic of the club, piled out of several vehicles, and he was approached by Charlene and her husband, Allen. She had told him when they talked on the phone that she’d bring him a shirt, both for the camaraderie and spirit of being part of the group, and for safety. No one was going to miss seeing a swarm of bright yellow t-shirts moving down the road.
Pleasantries were exchanged and he was introduced to ten people, all of them already paired up. He went to the men’s room and changed shirts, and as he came out and rejoined the group, he heard someone say that Laurel and Sandy should be on the way. All hope of being partnered with her was dashed and he wanted to scream. Pragmatically, he rationalized that one-on-one time while bicycling the island together would have been too much to count on. He shouldn’t have banked on that.
“There she is. That’s her Honda,” someone said, and he turned in time to see her pull into a parking space.
Trying to appear unaffected, he watched as she got out of her truck. There was no one with her. His spirits lifted. Maybe they’d be partner
s after all.
While she could have taken the bike off herself, three men from the group hurried out to meet her and helped her lift it off the rack. He watched as she smiled at each man, and was hugged by one of them. Garrett’s hackles rose, and as he registered the nature of the feeling, he had to blink hard behind his sunglasses to tamp down the hot emotion. She wasn’t his yet, he told himself. He had no right to jealous feelings. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt possessive about a woman—high school maybe? Regardless, what he felt was out of line. He had no right to be jealous of any man, no right to be concerned over how she reacted to any man. But knowing it, didn’t change how he felt.
Laurel wheeled her bike up as she chatted to the men accompanying her and Garrett drank in her petite figure, clad in black capris and the ubiquitous yellow tee. She had on cute little black ballet-type crocs on her tiny feet and a black visor advertising Tiger’s Eye framed her face. Despite knowing her exact age, and her date of birth along with it, she appeared to him as an adorable teenager striding to the platform. He removed his polarized sunglasses; he didn’t want his first person-to-person appraisal of her to be filtered in any way.
She didn’t disappoint, in the bright sunshine she was radiant, and her vibrant energy sparkled through amazing green eyes. Her bright gleaming smile showed off flawlessly white teeth. He wanted to kiss those soft lips and stroke the edges of her smooth teeth with the tip of his tongue.
She called out a cheery greeting to several individuals and he was so mesmerized by her soft lilting voice that at first it didn’t register with him what she was saying.
“Anyway, she couldn’t make it. The contract had to come first. Right now her life is her business.”
“Well, we’re sorry she can’t make it today but as we’ve got a new member, you won’t have to ride around the island on your own. This is Garrett, Garrett Grayson. Garrett . . . Laurel Leighton,” said Charlene as she motioned him to come forward. He sensed one of the men in her little circle of admirers bristling from that news.
He forced himself to count to five before straightening up from the rail where he’d been leaning. He didn’t want to come off as eager. He walked over and leaned in to shake her free hand, and as they touched, their eyes met. He was considerably taller than she, and with her visor angled toward his chin he couldn’t see her eyes until she lifted them to his—until summer green met vivid blue and locked.
He’d never seen eyes so green; he sank into them, searching their beckoning depths. And he fell into them.
He’d always heard that at moments like this, time stood still. For him it sped up. He saw images of her flash through his head. Not the erotic type he’d had plastered there for weeks, but the placid bucolic scenes of a confident woman laughing, conversing over a dinner table, seductively smiling over her shoulder while cooking at the stove, walking and swinging hands on a deserted beach. He managed to appear outwardly in control while inside his emotions were rioting. Could this be what love at first sight felt like or was he really becoming an insidious, tedious stalker for God’s sake?
Her broad smile was genuine, and while he was sure she was thinking thoughts about the day ahead, he was picturing those full pink lips yielding under his on a blanket by the dunes. He derailed the thoughts that were piling up in his head and gave himself a mental slap. He eased his hand away and gave her his most devastating smile.
“Here, let me take your bike while you get settled and get your ticket.”
He would have bought her the damned ferry at that moment if she’d asked him to, but he knew it was too soon to even offer to buy her passage to Bald Head. Go slow, you idiot, go slow. But he couldn’t help winking at her as he took her bike from her and rolled it over to the bullpen with the others. The bikes were being loaded now, and just like a kid at Christmas, he was ready for the adventures to begin. He had high hopes for the day. If he could just concentrate on de-emphasizing the consequence of all this, maybe he wouldn’t have a heart attack. It’s just a bike ride, he told himself, a day in the sun, some exercise, a chance to relax and make new friends. Like hell. He already knew the significance of this day. It resounded in every fiber of his being. If he didn’t have this woman, he would die. It was as simple as that. If ever there was a mate assigned in a pre-creation phase, she had been set aside as his.
His inner voice agreed, and said it was more than desire that he was feeling. It’s gotta be more, even though you desire this woman like nobody’s business. The hardest part for him today was going to be keeping his “hardest part” out of the picture . . . while biking of all things. Because even though he prided himself on his control, physically, she leveled him. He was as randy as he’d ever been.
He looked down at the bike he was passing off and something clicked in his mind’s eye. The bike he was pushing was a drifter in pastel green and light tan. He remembered seeing one on the beach, was it just a few weeks ago? Hadn’t a blonde been riding it? Hadn’t he thought they were both stunning, her and the bike? He shook his head as he relinquished the bike to the ferry employee. Could he have been that close to the owner of the flash drive so soon after finding it? His mind reeled. Life had a way of unraveling in such a weird way, he thought.
He rejoined the group, passing the claim ticket for the bike over to Laurel via her hugging buddy. It would be best if he didn’t touch her again. There was something about that creamy sun-freckled skin that drew him in, he wanted to stroke and caress it, satisfy his curiosity—could it be as smooth and soft as it looked . . . so toned and firm? He just couldn’t chance touching her again. Maybe he’d touch her later. Just how much later would depend on her. You didn’t rush things that were important. And already she was as vital to him as breathing.
Chapter Thirty-three
Laurel had to force herself not to blink her eyes wide. Dear God, where had he come from? Widows, singles, even stolid yet frisky wives had unique sonar in the south, and good-looking men like this just did not get overlooked. She knew she’d never heard his name before. But gall-darn—if she hadn’t drawn her ideal man, as if he’d been pulled from a magician’s hat. He was not so much as a hair’s breath outside the chalk line of the fantasy men she dreamed about. Thick brown hair, so dark it was almost black, well-defined slashes of brows that arched over ocean-blue eyes, and lips . . . well she knew she couldn’t focus on them now—already she was wetting hers and thinking lewd thoughts.
Irreverently, he hadn’t shaved and was sporting a sexy, dark shadowed beard. She wanted to run her palm over his face to hear the scratchy bristles. She wanted to run her thumbs over his lips. He looked a little familiar . . . could he have been the man on the bridge? The man in the Corvette?
Well, today would certainly be an interesting one. Thank God I wore my new Athleta lotus capris with the waist cinching Branwyn top instead of the skuzzy cutoffs and halter I’d been planning on wearing.
She was glad she’d taken the extra minutes to brush her SPF 15 mineral make-up over her face and shoulders instead of waiting until she got here to use the white stuff in the tube.
She smiled and took his hand when he offered it. And didn’t want to let it go. What was wrong with her? It was sunny and bright out, so why was she getting that delicious shiver tingling through her insides? Deliciously alternating between fire and ice, it finally warmed and settled as a melting fuse in what her mother would have called her hoochie koochie. If she didn’t know any better, this attraction she felt presaged infatuation. But that was absurd. She knew only one thing about this man and that was his name. Okay two: he was drop dead gorgeous. With a tit-for-tat brazen appraisal, she acknowledged the physical effect he was having on her. His intense gaze caused a wild array of delicious responses, but no way would she let on that she was bathed in his intoxicating aura. This was like something out of one of her stories.
He murmured something
she couldn’t make out and then stepped closer and took her bike from her. Loretta, one of the members of their group, turned her and pointed her toward the ticket booth, and, as if in a trance she walked over and purchased her fare. Then she walked back to where he stood talking to the group.
Gotta pull yourself together. He’s going to think you’re an idiot. Just relax, smile, and for God’s sake don’t fall off the bike ogling him. But God, those wide shoulders, the outline of those broad chest muscles filling out that tee shirt, those long, hair-dusted legs. He had to have an ass that was worth watching all damn daylong. She wasn’t sure if that was such a good thing.
She sidled back into the group, and as her claim ticket for the bike was handed over to her, he did the oddest thing. He winked at her.
Ah, well at least they were on the same page. Boy meets girl. She smiled and slid her sunglasses down from where they’d been perched on her visor. Eyes—windows to the soul . . . she couldn’t afford to broadcast her every thought at this point. Mostly because they involved things she should not be thinking about doing with a man she had just met.
Chapter Thirty-four
“So where are you originally from?” Laurel asked. They were on the bow end of the ferry and they had to practically shout to be heard as the ferry got up to speed and began crossing the channel.
“Laurel. Laurel, Maryland. Just like your name. Ever heard of it?”
“Sure, who hasn’t?”
He grimaced. “We’re a lot more than the place where Wallace got shot.”
“My dad used to have appointments in Ft. Meade. He used to take me to the racetrack on Saturdays when we visited there, so I’m a little familiar with the area. ”
Flash Drive Page 21
