Treasure in the Sand

by Jill Monroe

  Afterwards she didn’t know how they got under the covers or turned off the lights. All she cared about was snuggling into the heat of his chest and gaining her strength for more.

  Chapter Eight

  His phone buzzed and a notification popped up on the screen even before the sun rose. He tried to carefully roll to his side. Not easy to do with a gorgeous woman snuggled up to him. She sighed in her sleep as she settled into her pillow, and his erection flared to life.

  Phone. Off.

  He caught the text sender’s name. Rick. His agent. Why had Cooper forgotten to put his phone on Do Not Disturb?

  Because he’s been too distracted by the sexy woman cuddled up to his side. Soft and warm, he ached to wake her. Again.

  Time to tell his agent to back off until next week.

  He punched in his passcode and allowed real life to intrude.

  From Rick:

  Graham Tener’s taking responsibility for the reenactments on the show. He’s retiring anyway, and we’re giving him a lucrative send off. Emailed you a statement. Contains the usual. You’re outraged but people make mistakes. You wish him the best. Blah, blah blah. Read it over. Will release on Tuesday and all this will blow over by the weekend so you can leave that shitty little island with the sucky beer.

  Cooper clicked off his phone. And like that—the disorder of his career was fixed. He no longer needed to find Le Cœur Surveillé. He didn’t need Mimosa Key or Brecon or Molly. He could go back to doing it alone.

  The way he always thought he was meant to live.

  And yet he felt…nothing.

  * * *

  The warmth of the sun dragged Molly from one very sex-satisfied sleep. She stretched. Her body felt like everything right in the world. Warm, gentle rain. Melted homemade apple butter on buttermilk biscuits. Newly opened orange blossoms filled with scent.

  Cooper.

  Ah yes… Copper. She didn’t even have to open her eyes to see him. Her mind had down pat his dark, dreamy eyes, his charming smile and his shaggy hair. Nothing could have stopped her from grinning ear to ear like a nerd. A sex-satisfied nerd. Of course Cooper must like nerds. Ugh, what a sappy goofball.

  I’ll take seconds, please.

  The treasure. How could she have forgotten that even for a second? Duh! Because a man spent most of the night rocking your world. Her lids fluttered open and she rolled to her side ready to spoon up next to Adventure Man. Was he a cuddler?

  But she was alone in the huge bed. She palmed the sheet beside her. Cool. Cooper had left the bed a while ago. Was he scaring up some breakfast? Her mouth watered. Not only had he helped her work up this very serious appetite, was he now arranging a way to quench it? Could a man be any more perfect?

  Molly scrambled out of bed. She found a thick, soft robe in the closet. Don’t shock room service. She belted the robe quickly and left the bedroom to traipse down the stairs. But the living area was empty. So was the dining room. Maybe he wanted to begin his morning with a swim. Good thinking. Perhaps a quick dip in the buff? She was a bona fide fan now.

  She raced across the tile to the private patio, but no Coop. Something prickled along the back of her neck.

  “Cooper,” she called. She rushed back up the steps to the second floor of the villa. Cooper’s computer and microphone as well as the rest of his equipment no longer stretched across the desk. The photocopies of his map and the notes they’d made were also missing. Only a lonely clump of granite remained on the conference table. She traced her fingers over the rock from her grandpa’s chest.

  The muscles in her stomach tightened. She raced back into the bedroom scanning the floor and the chair in the corner. Nothing. No clothes. No shoes. Molly crossed to the bathroom. Cleared.

  Something ripped and tore deep in her chest. She doubled over and clutched her stomach. Her insides throbbed and pulsed, threatening to crack. He was either a pro at the post-coital sneak off or she’d been in some kind of shag stupor. Probably both. She’d been oblivious to when and how he’d left.

  Molly’s throat ached and tears pricked the back of her throat. She blinked a few times to hold them back. Then a few times more. What was wrong with her? She loved Cooper. Had told him last night. Where was her faith? Of course he was packing up his equipment. He’d use it once they’d trekked to Barefoot Mountain.

  But that didn’t explain his missing clothes.

  And what about his toiletries?

  Her shoulders slumped. Maybe… Or maybe he’d… Maybe he’d stocked up to go to Brecon. After all, she had invited him sometime in the night. Sure the cottage was no Morning Glory Villa, but her place had a deserted beach and that chance to finally skinny dip together in the ocean and…

  Cooper never said he loved her.

  Molly took a shaky breath. Last night he’d only said they’d break the curse. He’d said what they had between them was real.

  That wasn’t I love you. Not even close.

  But he’d made love to her like a man in love.

  Molly squeezed her eyes tight to ward off the flashes of memory from the night before. The weight of his body. The smoothness of his back. The friction of his hair-roughed thighs between hers.

  Holding back a sob, she reached for the belt at her waist. She couldn’t stay here another second. The luxurious confines of the villa suffocated her. And she couldn’t stand being touched by anything even remotely his. Molly dumped the robe on the bed and searched for her clothes. After shimmying into her shorts she fished her tank top off the TV. She tossed her torn panties in the trash. Her shoes waited for her by the front door. And yet…

  Hope.

  Maybe he’d left a note. An explanation. Something other than what the evidence in front of her suggested—he’d skipped out on her and taken everything they worked on together with him. Molly dropped her hand from the doorknob and raced up the stairs once more to rush into the bedroom. She searched first her nightstand. Then his. He’d left nothing but the impression of his head was on the pillow. No note in the bathroom either.

  Her steps lost their urgency. She no longer felt the urge to sprint around the villa in search of a note. There wouldn’t be one. Her slowness in accepting the truth in front of her had only gifted her the time to wallow in hope a few moments more rather than face stark reality.

  The table where they pieced together the map was as clear as if the cleaning staff had prepared it for the next occupant.

  That bastard.

  He’d taken the map. He’d taken everything.

  She sank down on the bottom step of the stairs and dropped her head in her hands. How could she face Gram?

  And with that question, the tears flowed. Angry tears. Embarrassed tears. Broken-hearted tears.

  Liar.

  Asshole.

  Jerk.

  He hadn’t just made her fall in love. “You made me like you.”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She splashed cool water on her cheeks from the small sink in the dining area. After pulling her hair in a tight knot on the top of her head, she grabbed the keycard and shoved her sunglasses in place.

  Then she left Betrayal Glory Villa and followed the signs to the front desk. Maybe he’d left her a note there. Damn it. There it was again. Hope. Hope was crappy and it always outstayed its welcome.

  Even with her sunglasses, she blinked against the sun. The air-conditioned environment in the lobby chilled her skin, and her cheap sneakers squeaked on the floor.

  The front desk agent gave her a friendly smile. “May I help you?”

  “I’m in the Morning Glory Villa. Have any messages been left for us? Me?” her voice trembled.

  The clerk wiggled the mouse and stared at the screen. “No. Is everything okay with your room? Mr. Overton said you’d be staying until the end of next week.”

  Her hands clenched, and she tried to shake them discreetly so no one would spot the signs of her losing her grip here. “And he is?” she asked with a smile.

  “Mr.
Overton checked out this morning.”

  And like that—hope finally died. She pressed a hand to her throat. Thankfully.

  “Are you enjoying the villa?’ the clerk prodded. “Mr. Overton instructed us to assist you in anything you need. Just charge it to the room.”

  Her consolation prize?

  Thank you, Mr. Overtool. Now she would remember the most erotic week of her life in line with something akin to pity sex.

  Heat tinged her cheeks. Her throat closed as wave after wave of humiliation slammed into her. Nearly floored her.

  The woman merely lifted a brow.

  What was she going to say? I’m good. Lie. I don’t need anything. Other than some steel-toed shoes to deliver a swift kick. “Thank you,” she finally managed, then raced from the lobby.

  Why was she the one feeling humiliated? She wasn’t the amoral lying bastard in this scenario. That bit of rage kept her going until she reached the parking lot. Get in your car and race to Barefoot Mountain and get your treasure before he does. If it’s not already too late.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. That skeevy snake had driven her to Casa Blanca in his car. She had no way home. She reached for her cell, but she’d left her charger at Brecon and her phone was dead. She could always pop inside and call Deanna from the lobby phone. And then tell the whole mortifying story? No way. Hitchhike? She’d rather hoof it.

  Walking across the small island seemed like a good idea when she was still filled with righteous anger. An hour later, and under the Florida sun, she knew she’d been an idiot. Again. Fitbit or not, she was calling for a ride next time.

  * * *

  Cooper parked the Aston Martin at the edge of Barefoot Mountain. Why would they call this place a mountain? It was barely a hill. Molly had been right. More of a rise.

  Molly.

  He gripped the steering wheel and bumped his head in the center causing the stupid thing to honk. A flock of seagulls took flight at the disturbance. They screeched at him as they flew past.

  He deserved to be screeched at. What the hell was he doing out here? Alone? Without Molly?

  Old patterns. He’d allowed himself to rely on others and look what happened to his show. He slammed his palm against the dash. No, asshole, that’s not it. Molly would have never let you down. Sneak out of your warm bed. Betray you.

  Like you just did.

  The cardboard tube holding the replica of the map rolled to the edge of the leather seat and dropped to the carpeted floor. Molly had guessed right, he’d bought that ragged old piece of paper from her great-uncle. Time hadn’t been kind to the older gentleman. Lonely and bitter. No one to spend the money with. No one to walk beside him on the beach. No one to treasure hunt with.

  His choice. His regrets.

  Were they about to be Cooper’s?

  He could be like Molly’s great-uncle and choose treasure and money. Or he could be like her grandfather and choose the woman and love.

  If he hadn’t already blown it.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late. Molly could still be asleep. He could sneak into the villa and she’d never know.

  Are you choosing to begin your life together—possible life—with a lie? Hell, no. Molly deserved more. Deserved way better than him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still going to give it a shot.

  Coop reached for his cell and dialed Casa Blanca’s number. “Please send flowers to Molly Waiter in the Morning Glory Villa. Add a note—please wait.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Overton, Ms. Waiter has already checked out.”

  Next he dialed her number, but it went to voicemail on the first ring.

  His gut clenched. He disconnected the call and next typed out a few lines that he texted to his agent. Then he called him. “Pull the statement, Rick. I’ve written a new one.”

  “Cooper, it’s too late to make any changes. The current statement has already been vetted and signed off by the lawyers. And marketing.”

  Coop gripped the phone tighter. “I don’t want to make changes. Dump the whole thing. I’ve texted you the new one. And still give Tener a good sendoff.”

  “Hold on.”

  Urgent to reach Molly, Coop fired up the sports car and aimed in the direction of Brecon as his agent read the text.

  Rick’s heavy sigh bounced across cell towers from LA to Florida, sounding loud and exasperated. “I’ll pull it, Coop. But I can’t release what you sent me to use instead. It’s career suicide. You can’t say this.”

  Coop shook his head. “No, allowing the show to lose its authenticity…that was the career suicide. I’m just owning up to what I did.”

  “Then what are you trying to do here?”

  “I don’t know. Just not be wrong.”

  He turned onto the gravel road that would lead to Brecon. Where before he only saw the destruction wrought by the hurricane, now he saw a clean slate. Potential. Something new.

  No, it was more than that. He envisioned orange trees. Midnight trysts in the surf. A life with Molly. Cooper breathed in a deep breath, almost smelling the scent of oranges.

  * * *

  Hot, tired and cranky, Molly sucked in a deep breath as she reached Brecon. Then nearly tripped over her own feet at the gorgeous sight of Cooper. She began to tremble. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d pay good money for a skilled doctor to develop a Cooper Overton vaccine. An inoculation that would leave her immune to his smile, his charm and what she used to think was his soul.

  Her muscles shook. She wanted to scream at him and turn her back on him at the same time.

  Why was he here? Shirtless and sweaty, his muscles strained as he lifted a heavy rotting trunk of what used to be an orange tree and stacked it in a pile destined for a rented wood chipper. He’d been busy. He’d uprooted at least two others.

  He stood when he saw her. He also grabbed his shirt and wiped away the perspiration from his neck, lines of desperation etched in his face. “Molly, I—”

  “Where’s my treasure?”

  “I didn’t get it.”

  She waved her arms. “Of course you didn’t. That explains why you’re here. Need some more of my help? Maybe you think I will catch something you missed?”

  He shook his head. “No. I didn’t make it to Barefoot Mountain. I mean, I did, I just didn’t cross over.” He scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “Now I’m babbling like you do.” His eyes locked with hers. “I never even get my shovel out of the trunk.”

  A combination of rage and resignation broke inside her. “Tell your tall tale and then go away.”

  He took a step toward her but stopped. His hands dropped to his sides. “I went, but then I thought of you.”

  She sputtered and rolled her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to hear.”

  His brown eyes turned pleading. “I love you, Molly. I didn’t tell you last night because I was stupid, but it’s true.”

  Twelve hours ago those words would have thrilled her. Now they just made her tired. Even more exhausted than walking all the way home from Casa Blanca. Tired in the soul. She’d willed herself through that last half mile by imagining the confrontation scene. When she’d finally get to spell out what a prime, grade A jerk he was. But now her shoulders slumped. She ached for a shower, a cool drink and Gram’s quilt. She could wrap the blanket around herself and almost imagine it was Gram’s comforting arms surrounding her.

  “Go,” she told him, swallowing hard over the lump in her throat. “Leave. Now.” Please.

  “What do I have to do for you to believe me? Beg? Done. I’ll tell you I love you first thing in the morning, last thing at night and every moment in between. I know I hurt you, but believe me, please Molly, I’ll never hurt you again. Would spend the rest of my life making sure nothing ever hurts you again.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to protect her heart.

  “I have something for you.” He sprinted to his car, taking out the familiar cardboard tube as well as a small folded piece of paper.

&nb
sp; “What’s this?” she asked, realizing the paper was a check. She gasped when she saw the amount line. It was made out for far more than they’d agreed upon originally. That is if she’d ever found the map.

  “The map is so you can find the treasure. It’s yours Molly. It was never mine.”

  “What’s this money for?”

  “If you don’t ever discover Le Cœur Surveillé, you’ll still have the means to restore Brecon. Repair the cottage so Abigail can come home to someplace beautiful.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “But what about your show? Your career?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I can find another treasure. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe it’s time to retire The World Overton.”

  “But you told me you loved your show.”

  “It was never worth what I did this morning. What I was almost about to do.”

  Molly blinked back tears as she slid the check into her pocket.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His deep voice filled with meaning. “I think I’ll be saying that a lot in the next few days once the story of the reenactments hits the bigger networks and my statement is released. But I wanted you to hear the first one.”

  Molly searched his face, looking for deception. Lies. Anything. “Why? Why’d you leave me this morning?”

  “I guess I bought into my own hype. The global loner.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe because I had fallen in love with you and it scared the hell out of me.”

  Her throat ached at his words. “I feel like I’m falling into a trap if I believe you, Cooper. You left me this morning. You were going to get the treasure without me.”

  “I never would have kept the proceeds. I would never have been that big of a dick.”

  “But finding Le Cœur Surveillé, my treasure, my legacy, finding it alone was still more important to you than finding it with me. You were going to screw me over. How can I ever forget that? I’ll always remember and think about it.”

  “Then let me give you different memories.” Cooper bent down and reached for the shovel. “I’ll clear out every single one of these dead orange trees one by one. I’ll start now. I’ll plant a million orange seeds. I’ll hold you every night. Walk beside you on that beach, and maybe one day you won’t remember how I left you this morning.”