by Marie Carnay
Beckett frowned. “I never should’ve agreed. Letting some stranger stay at the island for a month is a mistake.”
Bronx checked his own rising anger. Yelling at his brother would get them nowhere fast. “The bidding started half an hour ago. We can’t back out now. Besides, it’s for cancer, Beckett. You know Mom always donated time on Sarabelle—”
“Don’t remind me.” Beckett ran a hand down his face. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll change and meet you there.”
Bronx didn’t like leaving Beckett alone with his thoughts, but he agreed. Maybe it would give him time to scope out the mystery woman. “So does this woman you met have a name?”
Beckett glanced up. “Chelsea, why?”
“I like this suit. I’d hate to spill anything on it.” At least that managed to erase the furrow in his brother’s brow.
Maybe there was hope for them yet. Bronx strode out of the hotel room and headed toward the auction.
Five minutes later, he stood in front of the display for Sarabelle Island, wondering if he’d made the right decision. Pressuring Beckett into putting it up for auction seemed like a good idea at the time. It would be supporting their mother’s charitable causes and would bring some new blood into his brother’s life.
With any luck, it would be someone interesting and well-traveled. Bronx had imagined so many possibilities when Gage first brought it up. He knew if he could only get Beckett out of the rut he’d fallen into, their relationship would improve.
If his brother could find a woman to share his life with…
Bronx knew his brother would tell him to look in the mirror. Beckett wasn’t the only Kingston who needed a woman. But Bronx had given up long ago. It was one of the reasons he loved New York: the anonymity of casual hook-ups and the ability to disappear.
He’d tried to date a few times, but nothing ever panned out. Something to do with his charming personality.
Footsteps sounded beside him and he turned. “Good to see you, Gage.” He held out his hand and the elder MacIntosh brother shook it.
“Checking to see if we’ve done the island justice?”
Bronx smiled. “I leave the vanity to you and Holt, you know that.”
Gage grinned. Well over six feet tall, with a custom suit and obvious attitude, the co-owner of the MacIntosh hotel chain was a formidable opponent. Thankfully for Bronx, they’d been friends for years.
“Sarabelle is ripe for a boutique hotel.” Gage stepped closer and examined the photos. “Still not interested in developing it?”
Bronx shrugged. It wasn’t his decision to make. “Beckett likes it off the radar. Apart from you, not many people know it even exists.”
“Privacy is a luxury not many can afford.” Gage smiled. “If you ever change your mind, give me a call, will you?”
“Of course.” Bronx motioned around the room. “Do you know everyone here?”
Gage laughed. “Don’t tell anyone, but I can’t place most of the faces. It’s terrible, I know.”
“You’ve been busy.”
He exhaled. “Understatement of the year. Between the boutiques we’ve planned out and the wedding, I haven’t had time to sit down in months.”
Bronx nodded. He’d heard about the wedding. It still seemed impossible. “So you’re really marrying the same woman as your brother?”
“I am.”
“And that… works?”
Gage smiled. “Better than you can imagine.”
“No fighting? Jealousy?”
He gave Bronx a pat on the back. “You should try it sometime Might help your relationship with Beckett.”
It was Bronx’s turn to laugh. “Right. What we need is more competition.”
“You ever need any pointers, you know where to find me.”
That would never happen, but Bronx nodded.
As Gage turned to walk away, he motioned at the table in the back. “If you see anything you like, make a bid. The people with the iPads can help you.” Gage walked away and Bronx turned back to the photo of Sarabelle.
The island had been in the family for years. He remembered long summers spent there while their father stayed in Manhattan. He’d chase dolphins down the coast with Beckett, build epic sandcastles for the tide to destroy, even hike to the single waterfall deep in the interior.
Owning an entire island wasn’t something most people even dreamed of. For the Kingston boys, it had been everyday life.
“Are you interested in placing a bid on the Sarabelle vacation?”
Bronx smiled and turned toward the woman. “No, actually I—” Her name tag gave him pause. “I’m sorry, are you Chelsea?”
Her brows creased for a moment before she smiled. “Yes. Chelsea Miller. I’m coordinating the event this evening. How can I help you?”
What were the chances two women named Chelsea had shown up that night? Bronx looked her over. Raven hair, big dark eyes. She tried to keep the professional smile going, but the longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she became.
His gaze trailed down her slender neck to her determined shoulders. Mmm. Look at those curves. The black crepe might have hidden the wine stains, but her lush hips were on full display.
Bronx ran his tongue across his lower lip. “You didn’t have a run-in with some merlot earlier, did you?”
Her cheeks burned. Bingo.
“Yes, I’m sorry, are you a friend of the man I ran into? I wanted to offer to pay his dry cleaning bill, but he disappeared before I could even get his name.”
Interesting. Bronx knew why she’d lit such a fire in his brother. Instead of the usual plastic grins and artificial flattery, Chelsea spoke to him like an ordinary man. One without a bank account that could finance every future fantasy.
“He mentioned you were beautiful. He was right.”
Her cheeks flared again and Chelsea pointed to the island. “Are you interested in placing a bid?”
Bronx cocked his head. A woman hadn’t deflected his praise in forever. What a refreshing challenge. He leaned closer and caught a hint of vanilla mixed with wine. Mmm.
So many naughty possibilities came to mind. The phone closet tucked into the hallway just outside the door. The conference room with a table for six. The prep kitchen that must have a counter made for more than serving trays.
He knew the hotel well, but he couldn’t take her away from Beckett. No, he needed to find a way to bring the pair together.
With a glance back at the island photo, an idea came to him. A very bad idea. “Tell me a little about the island.”
She cleared her throat and focused on her iPad. “It’s… a tropical paradise, obviously. Ten bedrooms, a large pool and spa, two outdoor kitchens. You could invite a whole busload of people and have a month-long party.”
Bronx liked the flutter in her voice. “I prefer my vacations more on the intimate side.”
Her eyes went wide. “Then you couldn’t go wrong with Sarabelle. It’s secluded and private, with controlled access. No one would even know you were there.”
“Have you ever been there?”
She shook her head. “Heavens, no.”
“Not your style?”
“Me?” Her laugh came out nervous and tinny. “I’m only the event coordinator. It’s my job to know about everything up for auction.”
“But no bidding?”
“That’s right.”
His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the display. “Say you were allowed to. Is this what you’d bid on?”
“It’s way out of my price range.”
“Forget the money.”
She turned back to the photo. “Did you know it’s six hundred acres? It says here it has a waterfall. I bet the view is spectacular.” She snorted. “It probably comes with a chef and a gardener and a whole host of staff.”
He forced his voice to stay even. “Do those things matter to you?”
Chelsea shook her head. “No. To be honest, I didn’t even know places like this existed.” Her fingers twitched like she wanted
to reach out and touch the photo. “It’s only a three-hour plane ride from here.”
“And?”
She turned to him and her eyes sparkled with imagination. “Think about it. There’s no traffic, no congestion, no people whizzing by on the street and bumping into you without saying sorry.” She turned back to the photo. “I could stand on that white sand and not hear a single car.”
“It sounds like you need a vacation.”
Chelsea laughed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying any of this to you. I’m supposed to be convincing you to make a bid, not getting carried away.”
The more they spoke, the more Bronx liked her. Too bad Beckett saw her first. He asked the same question he’d posed earlier. “So if money were no object, is this what you’d bid on?”
“A whole month in tropical paradise?” She bit her lip and nodded. “I would. But don’t tell my boss, that okay? We’re supposed to stay neutral.”
He motioned across his lips. “My lips are sealed.”
Chelsea smiled as a man’s voice came over the radio in her hand. “Chelsea, can you come assist Liz? It seems there’s an issue about a misplaced ticket.”
“I’m sorry, I need to go. If you would like to bid, Liz is available at the back table. She’s great at walking donors through the process.”
Not as good as you, I’m afraid. Bronx smiled and watched Chelsea walk away, her hips shimmying beneath the floor-length dress. Beckett might kill him, but the minute he’d seen Chelsea, Bronx knew what to do.
The MacIntosh Fund for Cancer Research would receive a banner donation this year. His brother would get some much-needed company. And Bronx would be the hero.
Everyone would win.
He strolled up to the blonde at the bidding table. “Hello, I’m Bronx Kingston and I’d like to make a bid.”
Chapter Three
BECKETT
He fell back on the couch in a heap. Damn his brother.
The man always knew just where to strike. He might not have landed an uppercut to the jaw, but Bronx’s words still bruised.
The worst part was they held some truth. Beckett had grown complacent living on Sarabelle. All alone but for the staff and with no one to really talk to. There were times when the isolation got to him. But New York was no better. He stepped outside and millions of nameless faces poured past him on the street. No genuine friends and only Bronx for family.
Beckett might be one half of the Kingston fortune, but his brother was the only one who had inherited the ability to ignore the bullshit around him. Not Beckett.
To him, their family fortune meant more than fancy cars and houses in the sky. It meant fake friends and users. People looking out for themselves and lying to his face. He never knew if the people surrounding him were real.
Did she laugh at my joke because it was funny or because she thinks I want her to? Does she like my company or just want a new apartment on the Upper East Side?
Damn it. Beckett tore a hand through his hair. He should just put on a clean suit and go be social. At least he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts. Bronx managed to pull it off. It couldn’t be that hard.
Besides, he’d promised. Beckett closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. The smell of wine from his discarded shirt brought his thoughts back to Chelsea.
Beautiful and unassuming. Sexy without trying. Everything he could ever want in a woman. With almost-black hair and matching eyes and a body that he couldn’t stop thinking about, she was real. The way she apologized and tried to help him? Not his typical encounter.
He popped his eyes open with a frown. Would it change if she knew his name? Probably. It always did.
God, what he wouldn’t give to just be anonymous. An average guy with a steady job and tiny apartment. Not an heir to the Kingston family fortune with no need to work or hold a job. For once, he wanted someone to hold him accountable.
With a groan, Beckett stood and scooped up his suit jacket and shirt before stomping down the hall. He dumped the clothes on the floor and turned to the closet.
Another suit hung inside, waiting for him. It had been so long since he’d put one on, it wasn’t until that evening that he remembered how much they bothered him. The black wool might as well be a straitjacket.
He slammed the closet door shut and tugged open a drawer. Fuck this. I’m not made for fancy parties. Bronx can handle it.
His go-to Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops would have to do. If someone had a problem with it, they could go to hell. Bronx wanted him in New York for a few days? Fine. He’d stay, but he was done acting the part.
Bronx could play the New York City billionaire. Beckett would just be the beach bum older brother everyone thought he’d turned out to be. He tugged on his clothes, grabbed his suite key, and headed for the bar.
One plus for luxury hotels: top-shelf liquor. Beckett slipped onto a leather barstool and motioned to the bartender. “Single-barrel bourbon. What’s the best you have?”
The guy turned to look at the wall as he scratched his beard. “A 2014 Michter’s twenty-year. But you don’t want that. It’s stupid expensive.”
“Is it the best?”
The bartender turned to face him and his hand moved to the back of his neck. “Yeah, but…” He leaned closer. “We’re selling it for three thousand dollars a bottle.”
Beckett wondered if his brother in his bespoke suit would get the same treatment. He smiled. “I’ll take it. You can charge it to Bronx Kingston, the penthouse.”
The bartender stared at him for a moment before turning to the computer screen to enter the details. The guy obviously hadn’t been in the City long enough to wait on celebrities. Half of them looked like homeless people just to blend in.
“How long have you been in New York?”
The bartender answered as he reached for the bottle. “Three months. I’m from Portland, originally.”
Now it made sense. He would wise up quick. There were more sinners with cash in New York than even Vegas. In a year, nothing would surprise the man anymore. If he lasted that long.
The bartender paused with the bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. “How do you take it?”
“On the rocks.”
A moment later, his fingers were around the glass, the deep amber liquid begging for a taste. Beckett sipped and gave the bartender an approving nod. “Thank you.”
“Any time.”
As the bartender moved on to other customers, Beckett hitched his heels on the rung of the barstool and tried to relax. Despite the bourbon, it didn’t work. The city grated on his nerves. He never should have agreed to come back. Investment decisions could be handled over the phone. Bronx hadn’t needed him in New York, not really.
Beckett took another sip. The finish dragged on, full of brown sugar and vanilla. A hint of wood and pepper. A damn fine bourbon. But it would taste better on the veranda back home with the ocean air in his face and not another person for miles.
The sooner they finished up their business and he could head back, the better. Let his little brother run the business his father deemed Beckett unworthy to manage. Paradise suited him fine.
He finished the glass and before he could reach for the bottle, the bartender silently poured him another. As the liquor cascaded over the ice, Beckett thought of the woman who’d spilled his wine. Chelsea.
Full curves. Lush lips. Pink cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He wanted to get to know her a whole hell of a lot better. But what would be the point? An evening spent parading around the auction, a hookup upstairs, and then he’d be gone.
Beckett didn’t need a fling. He was over that. The next woman he kissed would be his forever.
He took another sip. As soon as Bronx gave him the all clear, he’d be on their jet, flying far away. Back to paradise, solitude, and not a single attitude in sight.
Except one.
The bar stool next to him pulled out and Bronx sat down. “Perk up, big brother. Your trip to New York is almost over.
”
“Why are you here?”
“I needed a break.”
“What, did you strike out already with all the single women at the party?”
“Nope. The auction’s about to close. Come back with me and listen to the winning announcement.”
Beckett made a face. “Thanks, but no thanks. Fancy shindigs are your thing, not mine.”
“You don’t care who the lucky winner of a vacation on Sarabelle is going to be?”
Damn it. Like it or not, the high bidder would be mucking up his home for an entire month. Knowing the type of crowd Gage and Holt attracted, it would probably be some flashy, stuck-up guy and his entourage.
“It’s bad enough that you offered Gage the island; you don’t need to rub my nose in it at the auction itself. Besides,” he paused to motion at his clothes, “I’m not dressed the part.”
“No one will care.”
Bronx just didn’t get it. No amount of satin and tuxedos would improve his mood. “Sorry, not interested.”
He raised his glass to take a gulp when Bronx covered the lip with his hand. “What if I told you the woman you’d met isn’t just a guest.”
Beckett hesitated. “Chelsea? What’s she got to do with anything?”
“Come to the auction and find out. I’m serious, Beckett, you don’t want to miss it.”
He frowned. The way Bronx was twisting his arm meant only one thing. “What did you do?”
His brother grinned and hopped off the stool. “You’ll have to show up to find out.”
“Fine.” Beckett downed the last of the bourbon in his glass and grabbed the bottle. “But we’re stopping off at the room to drop this off.”
He slid off the stool as the bartender hustled over. “I can have it delivered, if you’d like.”
Bronx smiled and pulled a bill from his wallet. He slid it across the bar. “Thanks for taking care of Beckett.”
“He’s the one I should be thanking. My boss won’t believe I sold the Michter.”
Beckett chuckled as he walked past his brother. “He should be thanking you, actually.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you bought it.”
