by Marie Carnay
“What about Bronx?”
Liz winced. “He’s a bit of a player. Out and about in the city often, making deals to further the empire. Seems he’s the one in charge of the day-to-day stuff.” She nodded to herself as she read more. “Makes sense as to why he’s the one controlling the checkbook.”
Great. “So I’m going on vacation with a hermit and a playboy. Is it too late to change my mind?”
“Way, way too late. Besides, don’t you want to get out of here? Shake things up and see what falls out?”
Chelsea frowned. It was exactly what she needed. A chance to get away from everything that had been caging her in. The traffic. The noise. The millions of people all vying to one-up each other on the ladder of success.
A whole month without a chocolate fountain or Eighties cover band would be spectacular. “You have a point, but…”
“What is it?”
She couldn’t tell Liz about all the torrid fantasies playing out in her mind. The minute Beckett and Bronx Kingston introduced themselves at the end of the auction, Chelsea’s imagination had run off like a college kid on her first spring break trip.
All she could see were their chiseled abs and broad shoulders as they walked down the sandy beach. Swim trunks and surf boards. Bright blue eyes and cinnamon spice. The images had made her belly flutter.
It had been way too long since she’d even gone out on a date, not to mention played some naked Twister. She nibbled on her nail. “They are good-looking, aren’t they?”
“Downright dangerous. Those dimples? Mmm. I could get lost in paradise with the two of them and never come back.”
Deep down, Chelsea wanted it, too. Just the thought of leaving all the trappings of her life behind… Getting lost in sunsets and ocean breezes and the squish of sand beneath her toes…
She hadn’t been to the beach in years. And to share it with two guys she could stare at all day wouldn’t hurt, either.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have some competition with the view. It doesn’t mean anything will come of it.” Chelsea straightened the papers on her desk. “I’m sure they can have their pick of women. I’m nothing compared to most of New York.”
“Are you listening to yourself? Ninety percent of what men want is confidence. You know that. I can’t believe either one of them would agree to come with you if there wasn’t some attraction there. Besides, I saw how Beckett looked at you.”
Chelsea was afraid to ask, but couldn’t help the curiosity. “How?”
“Like you were the cure to all his ailments.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. Boring old Chelsea Miller from Cleveland, Ohio.”
“I’m serious. Bronx was checking you out, too. That black dress of yours is a stunner.”
The mention of clothes made Chelsea’s mouth fall open. “Oh my God, Liz. Clothes! What the hell am I going to wear on a month-long vacation?”
Her best friend grinned. “Hopefully not much of anything!”
“Be serious!”
“I am. How else are you going to jump start that practically dead libido of yours?”
Chelsea stuck out her tongue. “It’s not dead, just on life support.”
“All the more reason to take advantage of the trip. With two guys like that, you never know what will happen.”
She didn’t want to disappoint Liz, but Chelsea knew exactly what would happen: a whole lot of nothing. For all she knew they both had girlfriends and were bringing them along.
It wasn’t like Chelsea had asked them to come alone. Didn’t rich guys bring an entourage wherever they went? There would probably be all-night parties and plenty of girls rocking itty-bitty bikinis.
Hopefully the island was big enough for Chelsea to just disappear. She could keep to her side and they could keep to theirs. A few weeks of sun and relaxation and Chelsea could come back rejuvenated and ready to take on Manhattan.
Not a single Kingston brother in sight.
Chapter Six
BECKETT
“You are such an asshole!” He couldn’t believe the nerve of his brother. First came the auctioning of Sarabelle like it was no big deal, then placing the winning bid himself? The man needed to check his ego at the door; it was too big to fit inside.
“I don’t appreciate your tone.” Bronx leaned on the back of the couch, legs and arms crossed like Beckett bored him. “You approved of the auction. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Beckett ran his hand through his hair. Of course Bronx wouldn’t see it. He never understood why Sarabelle was so important to him or why he lived there when he could live anywhere.
“When you told me about the auction, you said it would be hassle-free. You would arrange for waitstaff for whoever won and I wouldn’t be involved.” He stalked to the end of the living room and turned back around.
Bronx’s Manhattan apartment with all its stark modernity and clean lines grated on Beckett’s nerves. Where were the colors and the softness of nature? The whole place screamed sterile and foreign. He couldn’t wait to leave.
“I thought you had a thing for her. I was doing you a favor.”
“By spending two million dollars? She must think we’re the biggest douchebags on the planet.”
“Why?”
“Because we bought her, Bronx. You paid for her company.” Beckett threw up his hands. “She probably thinks we expect something in return.”
Bronx shrugged. “How’s that different from anyone else? Everyone who meets us wants something. Money, access, power. It’s just a business transaction, Beckett. Relax.”
He paused mid-stride. Was that all Bronx saw when he looked at people? Business transactions waiting to be made? Beckett might be a hermit, but he knew honest relationships when he saw one. They still existed, even for people like them.
“You’ve been in the city too long, Bronx. Not everyone is for sale.”
“Yes, they are.”
This was getting them nowhere when they still had a million things to discuss. “You need to get your PR people on this right away. I don’t want it getting out. No media. I don’t want Sarabelle in the news, Bronx.”
His brother sighed. “What does it matter? So people find out we own it. So what?”
Bronx would never understand. “I like my privacy, Bronx. I don’t enjoy having a spotlight trained on my every move. I know it’s hard for you to comprehend, but not everyone needs to be the center of attention.”
“Ouch.” Bronx clutched at his heart. “That hurt.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t some game you’re playing, Bronx. It’s my life.”
“Mine, too. But fine. I’ll have them check on the reports and make sure there’s no mention of the donation or the winning bid.”
Beckett exhaled in relief. At least that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about. He walked over to the window. All of Park Avenue stretched out before him in a long, endless line of cars and traffic and smog. Beckett didn’t understand the appeal.
“Why did you lie?”
His brother’s question caught him off guard and he spun around. “Excuse me?”
“About Sarabelle. Why didn’t you want Chelsea to know we own it?”
He wasn’t entirely sure, himself. He just knew if Bronx had walked up there, full of bravado and swagger, and announced they were buying their own island, she would have shut them down.
The minute they ran into each other, Beckett had felt it. Some connection running between them. The hum of an electric current beneath their feet.
He wanted a chance to get to know her without his last name and legacy getting in the way. So he was a Kingston. So what? All it had done was give him grief. Every time he introduced himself he never knew if they saw him, the man, or just the last name.
With Chelsea he knew the answer. When she’d run into him, she didn’t know anything about him. But there she was, smiling and open. Unguarded and honest.
The way she flipped her hair and reached out to comfort him
like it was the natural thing to do… damn. He wanted her, not some woman put off by their wealth or station. Just her.
He exhaled. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
Right. Like his brother actually wanted to know. He kicked at the edge of the rug. “It’s bad enough that she knows we’re loaded, Bronx. Adding an island would have put it over the top.”
“What’s wrong with that? I swear, the only reason you live on Sarabelle is so you can run away from who you are. You’re a Kingston, Beckett, whether you like it or not.”
He glared at Bronx. There was so much his little brother didn’t understand. Just because he didn’t take to the family business like Bronx or their father, didn’t mean he wasn’t a Kingston. Not everyone had to toe the family line. Their family made their fortune decades before Beckett was born. Wasn’t there room to try something else? Be someone new?
“I know exactly where I come from. I don’t need my little brother reminding me.”
“Then you should act like it and stop being ashamed.”
“I am not ashamed.” Christ, he didn’t understand at all. “I want the island to stay the way it is. Not turn it into some celebrity destination with paparazzi coming in by boats to snap pictures with helicopters flying overhead. It’s paradise, Bronx. If word gets out we own it, that will change.”
Bronx straightened his shirt cuffs. “The MacIntoshes have known about it for years. Gage keeps asking me when they can develop it.”
Beckett hated that anyone knew the place existed at all. Especially someone who wanted to plop a hotel on it and make millions. “It’s my home, Bronx. I can do what I like with it.”
“Just because Father left it to you doesn’t mean it’s not part of the family’s heritage.”
Beckett had heard enough. “When I start butting my nose in the business, then you can butt your nose in the island. Until then, stay out of it.”
Bronx stayed silent for a few moments as he ran his fingers over the crest of his cuff link. Another piece of the family his father thought Bronx should have over his eldest son. Those cuff links had been passed down for generations. His great-great-grandfather had commissioned them when he made his first million.
And now Bronx wore them without even understanding the work that went into them. The dedication. Beckett looked away.
“If you want me to rescind the bid, I will.”
What? Beckett glanced up. His brother was staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”
“I can pledge the money separate from the auction. We can cancel the trip and explain it to Chelsea. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Chelsea. In the heat of the moment, Beckett had forgotten about her. They’d promised her a vacation in paradise. He imagined her long dark hair dripping from the ocean water, her lush hips with a sarong wrapped around them, scraps of fabric covering her breasts.
Damn. Two million didn’t seem so far-fetched after all. “No. I want her to come.” Beckett tried to smile. “You, too. It’s been years since you’ve made the trip.”
“Did you meet Gage’s fiancée?”
Beckett blinked. “No. Was she at the auction?’
Bronx nodded. “She’s not what I would have expected from the two of them.”
“She’s engaged to Holt, too, right?”
“Crazy, isn’t it? But Gage said it works for them. She’s the bridge between them.”
Beckett wondered if there were more to Bronx’s words than he let on. But how could there be? The two of them led such different lives. Him in the middle of the ocean, Bronx in New York.
When they were together, all they ever did was argue. No woman could rebuild that relationship. The water was too deep to cross. “Lucky for them they work well together. I can’t imagine it would last if they fought all the time.”
Bronx exhaled. “You’re probably right.”
“What time do we leave?”
His brother checked his watch. “An hour.”
“I’ll be ready.” Beckett turned and headed toward the guest bedroom, leaving his brother standing all alone.
BRONX
Damn his brother. Every time he tried to talk to him, something would set him off and then Bronx would watch as their conversation circled the drain. The last thing he wanted to do was argue over Sarabelle.
Their father had given it to Beckett in the will, end of story. Bronx didn’t want it anyway. Beckett never seemed to get that. When he mentioned developers, it wasn’t to chase Beckett off the island or take it over, it was to seize an opportunity.
The Kingston fortune wasn’t made by frittering the day away on a beach somewhere. It was made with back-breaking labor through unbroken ground.
The men of the Kingston Railroad worked twelve-hour days, 364 days a year, cutting across the wilderness of the Great Plains. No one said James Kingston could do it.
Build a railroad from Chicago to California? Impossible. But he’d done it thanks to sheer force of will and unending determination.
Maybe Bronx had inherited more of the Kingston drive than Beckett. But when they were kids, it hadn’t seemed that way at all. Beckett never settled for anything. Straight As, varsity swimmer his freshman year in high school, always striving to learn more, do more.
But ever since he’d moved to Sarabelle, he’d retreated into himself. Their parents’ deaths had a part to play, sure. The accident took its toll on Bronx, too. But he couldn’t help think the island was the main issue.
He wanted to get out there and see it for himself. What was it Beckett spent his days doing? Why was some island off the coast of the Bahamas worth so much more to him than his own brother?
His phone rang and Bronx snapped out of the fog he’d wandered into. “Bronx Kingston.”
“The plane is all ready, sir. Will you still be departing at the top of the hour?”
“Yes.”
“And is it just to two of you, today?”
“No, we’ll have a woman with us. Chelsea Miller. She should be arriving by town car.”
“Excellent. I’ll make sure she’s comfortable if she arrives first. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”
“Yes.” Bronx might not agree with his brother’s isolation, but he wasn’t going to rile him up again. “Can you make sure the manifest stays confidential? We don’t want any press over this trip.”
“Of course. We’ll be seeing you shortly.”
The pilot hung up and Bronx walked over to the window. He’d bought the place for the view. Every evening in the summer, the sun dropped in the sky like a ripe crimson berry between the skyscrapers and his apartment was one of the few that caught it.
Unfortunately, he’d spent many evenings working. Whether it was a deal over a commercial building in Brooklyn, or a dispute with a Chinese shipyard, Bronx found himself tied up more and more often in family business.
It was a lonely enterprise, managing a fortune. He glanced toward the hallway. There’d been more than one time he’d wished his older brother had been there to offer some guidance or perspective. But he’d never been able to drag him off that damn island.
Now he’d have his chance to see what the fuss was all about. A whole month on Sarabelle with a beautiful woman to distract Beckett and Bronx would get to the bottom of it. He could guarantee it.
Chapter Seven
CHELSEA
The metal steps to the jet gleamed in the afternoon sun. This can’t be my life. Chelsea glanced around the private airfield.
When Bronx had told her a car would pick her up, she’d assumed he meant a ride to the airport. Not… this. Bradfield Airstrip was one of those places mentioned in passing in magazines like New York Style and Upstate Town and Country.
Private jets, top-line security, and no FAA to interfere. She had gotten in way over her head with this trip and it hadn’t even started yet. No one whisked a stranger away to a tropical paradise on a personal plane.
The MacIntosh brothers were kings of publicity stunts and Bronx seemed to know them well. Maybe he’d taken a play out of their book and invited her just for the good press.
Damn it. What an idiot I’ve been. While she’d been fretting about what to wear and whether they could possibly be interested in her, the pair of them had been using her to check their charity box for the year.
Chelsea hoisted her bag higher up her shoulder and glanced behind her. The car she’d taken to the airfield had disappeared. No backing out now without making a scene. She nibbled on her lower lip and tried to make a decision.
She could still leave. The cancer fund would forfeit the money. Her boss would be epically pissed off. She’d never get to walk barefoot on a Bahamian island.
Or she could pull her big-girl panties on, shove down her pride, and enjoy herself. The door to the plane opened and Beckett emerged.
Shaggy hair sticking up every which way, button-up shirt hanging open to reveal a T-shirt with some crazy design underneath. Bare feet. He smiled and those damn dimples dragged her forward.
Even if he only wanted to help out his image, she couldn’t turn down a month with him. Not when he stood there waving her forward and grinning like she’d just made his day.
Chelsea climbed the stairs. “Hi.”
“I’m glad you came.”
She nodded.
“Let me get that.” He reached for her bag and the weight on her shoulder lifted. Wow. Now she could finally stand upright. “Thanks. I didn’t know what to pack.”
He made a show of weighing the duffel. “I should have told you to pack light. All you’ll need is a swimsuit and flip-flops.”
She blinked. “Have you been to Sarabelle before?”
