by Tracy March
Beyond the camera, Stuart had joined Cyn and they danced along with the parade, Cyn keeping perfect rhythm. Stuart casually grabbed her hand and twirled her. She spun around, flashing him a dazzling smile, her ponytail whipping behind her. Stuart made a comment that Trent couldn’t hear and she grinned. She leaned close to Stuart’s ear and said something that had him tipping his head back, laughing.
Trent’s heart stammered through a couple beats, and he quickly turned his attention back to Ava. “How about some chowder?” he asked her after the parade had passed. “I’m excited for you to sample some of the conch dishes that draw crowds like this every year.”
“Me, too.” She scrunched her nose and grinned. “I’m better at eating than dancing.”
Trent liked that she’d danced anyway. “That makes two of us.”
He took her hand and led her to a familiar area of the grounds where most of the food was prepared. The air teemed with spicy, tempting scents that had his mouth watering. “When I found out you were a chef,” he said, “I thought you’d really enjoy this part of the festival.”
“For sure,” she said.
They passed several vendors and stopped in front of a rickety table covered with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Behind it stood a hefty old Bahamian man with a gray beard, stirring a steamy cauldron of conch chowder with a wooden boat oar. Ava looked fascinated.
“My man Malone!” Trent said.
Malone turned toward Trent and squinted for a few seconds until a broad smile stretched across his face. “Trent!” He left the oar in the cauldron, came around the table, and gave Trent a sturdy pat on the shoulder. “You’re back for the challenge?” He glanced at Ava. “And you brought a lovely lady friend.”
“This is Ava,” Trent said.
“Nice to meet you.” Ava shook Malone’s hand.
“You’re even prettier than the flower in your hair.” Malone shifted his gaze from Ava to Gordon, Stuart, and Jamie, and finally settled on Cyn. “My, my,” he said with a low rumble.
“Hi,” Cyn said shyly, color rising in her face.
“Every year Trent comes to taste my chowder,” Malone said to the group.
Trent raised his eyebrows and nodded. “He guarantees it’ll always be better.”
“Whoa,” Gordon said. “Setting the bar pretty high.”
The broad smile returned to Malone’s face. “Unless it wasn’t very good before.”
“It’s the best, hands down,” Trent said. “Chowder for everyone. My treat.”
Malone held up his meaty hand, palm out. “First things first.” He stepped over to Cyn and tipped his head toward the steaming cauldron. “Come. Stir the chowder. Then it’ll be even tastier.”
Cyn gestured toward Ava. “She’s the chef—a much better choice. I’m sure there’s way more magic in her touch than mine.”
Trent dared not let thoughts of Cyn’s touch cross his mind.
Malone chuckled. “Trust me. Miss Ava can keep Trent company while you come with me.”
Ava clutched Trent’s hand, looking pleased with the arrangement. Malone led Cyn over to the cauldron where she took the handle of the oar and stirred the chowder.
“Mmm…” Raising her chin, Cyn inhaled deeply. “Smells delicious.” Her pleased moan had Trent’s pulse ticking up a notch. She gave Malone a longing look. “How many stirs before we can taste it?”
Trent would’ve spoon-fed her the entire cauldron starting this second. A glance at Stuart had Trent guessing that he would too.
Malone grabbed several bowls and a ladle from the table. “Let’s serve it up and see what Trent thinks of your magic,” he said to Cyn.
Trent grinned, playing along. Of course he’d agree that Malone’s chowder was better this year. But there was no way he could honestly comment on Cyn’s magic. His magical experience with her had been their one-time-only kiss under the stars. And just like magic, the memory of it kept springing to mind even though he wished it would disappear.
Malone served them all chowder, waiting with his brow furrowed as they ate their first spoonfuls. Trent savored his—a hint of garlic, the spice of hot pepper, the smoky tinge of bacon. “You’ve done it again,” he said to Malone. “This is definitely the best yet.”
Malone beamed. The others chimed in with their compliments as Ava stood on her tiptoes and whispered to Trent, “The combination of spices is really creative.”
“I’ve never had conch chowder,” Cyn said to Malone. “But this is completely delicious. It was worth the trip down here just to get to stir the pot.”
“Will you enter the conch cracking contest?” Malone asked Cyn.
She shrugged. “I have no idea how to crack a conch, much less win a contest.”
“They have one for beginners. Let me teach you.”
Cyn bunched her lips and gave Trent a coy look. “I’m kind of working right now.”
Malone frowned and shifted his gaze to Trent. “C’mon, boss man. Give the girl a break.”
Trent playfully scratched his head. “Hmm. I guess you could take a quick lesson.”
“Thank you!” Cyn clapped her hands.
Malone flashed him a smile that showed nearly every tooth in his mouth. “Perfect. She’s gonna be a contender.”
Trent had no doubt about that.
…
Moonlight glimmered on the water as Cyn propped her elbows on the railing of the villa’s sprawling deck. Gordon, Jamie, and Stuart had already gone to bed, all wishing their flight out tomorrow wasn’t so early. Cyn would be sorry she hadn’t hit the sack, too, but she was still amped from the day. Besides, they’d be rushing to leave in the morning and she’d be out of time to enjoy the whisper of palm fronds in the breeze, the gentle lapping of the waves, the scent of tropical flowers on the balmy night air. This might be the only time she got to visit Andros Island, and she wanted to enjoy every moment.
Worlds away from Maple Creek, she closed her eyes, lifted her chin, and drew a deep breath.
“Cyn?”
Trent’s voice carried on the breeze from the beach. Or had she imagined it? Just when she’d escaped thoughts of him and their kiss, he’d sneaked back into her head…and he was talking! She opened her eyes and focused on the lone dark silhouette out on the beach. Maybe she wasn’t losing her mind after all.
“Trent?” She made her way down the steps and headed out to join him. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s everyone else?” he asked, meeting her near the pair of chaises where Jamie had sat last night during the sunset shoot. His white oxford shirt nearly glowed, untucked over a pair of dark Bermuda shorts. He’d rolled up his sleeves and carried his Top-Siders. Sand clung to his feet.
Cyn’s heart seesawed in spite of herself. He looked even hotter than he had in the sunset last night, or under the starry sky the night before.
“They called it a night. I went to my room, too, but then I started thinking that this was my last night here. Why not stay up a while and enjoy it?”
“That’s the spirit.” He gestured for her to sit on one of the chaises, and he settled on the other. “But you better not bother the Chickcharnies while you’re out here. Best to stay on their good side.” The moonlight cast shadows on his face, but it was easy to see his teasing grin.
She raised her eyebrows. “The Chickcharnies?”
He pointed up into the palms and distant pines. “They’re kind of like birds. They live up in the treetops—only on Andros Island and nowhere else in the world.”
Cyn scanned the darkness among the high branches. “What do you mean ‘kind of like birds’?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Like owls. But they have three fingers, three toes, and they hang from the trees by their tails. You can spot their red eyes when they catch the light.”
Cyn clenched her teeth and squinted up into the trees, scanning for a pair of red eyes aimed her way. “They sound a little creepy.”
“If you see one, and you show it respect,” Trent
said, “you’ll have good luck for the rest of your life.”
Cyn could use some good luck, for sure. She concentrated harder on finding those red eyes. None in sight, she furrowed her brow and set her gaze on Trent. “What do they do if you bother them?”
His grin widened into that stop-your-heart smile that Cyn was finding harder to resist. “They turn your head around backward.”
“What?”
“It’s probably really painful,” Trent said.
Cyn swatted his arm, coming up against tight muscle. “You made that up.”
“Not really. It’s island lore. People think the Chickcharnies descended from a big flightless owl they’ve found in fossils.”
“Have you ever seen one?” she asked skeptically.
“Not yet. But you never know if one’s around. I’d like to keep my head on straight, so I don’t tease about them.” He grinned.
Cyn rolled her eyes, even though she liked learning one of the island’s insider secrets. “So what are you doing here?” she asked lightly. “And where’s Ava?” Nervous about what he’d say, she focused on arranging her long, gauzy dress.
Twenty-five grand. Twenty-five grand.
“I live about fifty yards down the beach. I’m headed home.” He tipped his head in the direction of the resort. “I just walked Ava to her villa and told her good night.”
“You didn’t go in?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes. Silence stretched between them until the intensity of his gaze drew her to look at him.
“For a little while.”
“And?” If Cyn and Trent hadn’t kissed the other night, asking him about this wouldn’t have felt so awkward. She couldn’t decide if she wished it had never happened. Given the choice to rewind and do things differently, would she kiss him again?
“And she’s nice, and interesting,” he said, not giving Cyn near enough information to satisfy her.
“Are there sparks?” she asked.
“Sparks?” He tugged his hand across his forehead and dragged it down his cheek. “Maybe. Fireworks? Not yet.”
Cyn struggled not to smile because that wasn’t a good thing…was it?
“Got it,” she said, even though she still had questions. “Gordon reviewed some of the footage and said he caught some good moments between you two.”
He nodded. “There were some. And I think she really got into tasting the conch dishes.”
“That chowder was de-lish—if I do stir so myself.” She gave him a silly grin.
Trent slapped his hand over his eyes for a second. “You did not just say that.”
“I did.” She tipped her nose up. “A chowder-stirring conch-cracking champion can brag a little, can’t she?”
“You were unbelievable,” he said, pleasing her more than she wanted to admit. “I mean, you’d never cracked a conch until today and you smoked everyone up there. It might’ve been a beginners’ contest, but I bet most of those people had at least cracked conch before—maybe even practiced.”
“Malone’s a great teacher.”
“I can’t believe you gave him your trophy.”
“Why not? I couldn’t have won without him. Besides, he knows the local artist who designed it.”
His eyes sparked with something that felt like pride. “Weren’t you inspired to try to climb the greasy pole after your smackdown conch-cracking victory?”
“Um, no one volunteered to coach me on that one. Besides, my boss had already given me a big break from work and it wouldn’t have been right to ask for another one.” Would reminding him of the boundaries between them help her stay inside them?
Trent swung his legs over the side of the chaise, planted his feet in the sand, and leaned toward Cyn.
“Besides,” she said, “I’m not sure what I would’ve done with a trophy for climbing a greasy pole.”
Trent’s sexy grin caught the corner of her eye. “Your parents would be so proud.”
Cyn tensed at the mention of her parents. “You have no idea.”
“You’re right. But I am curious. What was it like being raised by a preacher and a librarian?”
The last thing Cyn wanted to talk about was her parents. The less Trent knew about them, the better. “Maybe it’d be better to talk about Naomi, the next girl you’re—”
Suddenly a huge screeching bird swooped down out of the trees, flew several feet over their heads, and veered up into a nearby copse of palms.
Cyn yelped and ducked low. Trent pulled her close, tucking her against his chest. “Holy crap!” she said. “That was one pissed-off Chickcharnie. Hold on to your head.”
Trent laughed. “It was probably just a regular barn owl. I see them up at my place sometimes, chilling in the trees. But that one came screamin’ out of nowhere.”
“You think it’ll come back?”
“I hope not.”
The hurried thud-thud of his heart beat against her ear. “Your heart’s racing—nearly as fast as mine.”
“Cyn!” a man yelled. She quickly pulled away from Trent, both of them jerking their heads toward the villa.
“Gordon?” Cyn stood, hoping Gordon would see her in the moonlight.
Wearing only a pair of plaid boxers, Gordon came racing toward the beach, stopping short when he reached her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his breathing ragged. “I heard a scream. Jamie checked your room and you were gone.”
“Aw, Gordon. I’m fine.” Cyn gestured up into the trees. “A giant squawking bird buzzed us in a flyover.”
Gordon squinted at the dark silhouette on the chaise. “Trent? What are you doing here?”
Trent stood, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Just waiting for some crazy Aussie to come tearing out here in his underwear.”
Gordon glanced down at his boxers and shook his head. “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks so much for coming to look for me,” Cyn said to Gordon. She really did appreciate it, but if it weren’t for Gordon, she’d still be in Trent’s arms.
Chapter Ten
Despite Cyn’s long trip back to Maple Creek and her late arrival home from the Bahamas, the Queen insisted on getting a debriefing from her. Trent had stayed behind on Andros Island, and Gordon, Jamie, and Stuart had headed back to Atlanta. They’d all meet next weekend in Turks and Caicos for round two of the marriage match, starring Naomi Longworth. Of the three girls the Queen had picked, Cyn’s money was on Trent choosing Naomi. She felt a twinge of envy at the thought.
Remember the bonus…
The Queen had clearly rounded up three strong candidates, but Naomi stood out the most. Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Barbie-doll body. She’d fly in from Dallas where she had taught tennis at a private school and an exclusive country club ever since she graduated from Rice University. Naomi volunteered lots of her spare time to teaching the game to disadvantaged kids. She even coordinated an annual charity tournament to support the program. The girl had Miss Texas written all over her. If Trent didn’t fall for Naomi, they’d have to make sure he still had a pulse.
“Tell me how things went with Trent and Ava.” The Queen sat in her office behind a massive mahogany desk that might’ve been passed down through a long line of British monarchs, for all Cyn knew. The same could be said for her elaborate chair. No doubt she could’ve found something more functional, but nothing nearly as intimidating. To add to the effect, her high-neck burgundy blouse was buttoned to the top, making her appear even stiffer than usual. “I haven’t spoken with Trent about their date.” She expectantly lifted one eyebrow. “I’m hoping for some good news?”
Cyn lowered her chin, noticing that her chambray shirt wasn’t nearly as buttoned-up as the Queen’s, and that she probably should’ve fastened another button before she met with her. She sat in one of the upholstered wingback chairs in front of the desk, fussing with a loose string on the armrest cover. This was the first time she’d had to face the Queen since she’d kissed Trent.
Awkward.
“First of all, the resort w
as spectacular,” Cyn said.
The Queen nodded quickly. “I’m glad you had the chance to see it. It is quite something, if I do say so myself.”
If I do stir so myself… Cyn tried not to grin as she remembered her silly play on words and Trent’s amused reaction. Also how he’d been so happy that she’d won the conch-cracking contest. And how his heart had raced against her ear.
“About Trent and Ava?” the Queen prompted.
“Right.” Cyn cleared her throat. “When I met Ava, I got the feeling she was serious about finding love, just like Trent. They seemed to get along well.” She lifted one shoulder. “I think he liked her.”
The Queen tucked her chin, nearly scowling. “Liked her? We’ve got to do better than that.”
“He said there were sparks but not fireworks. Sometimes things take a while to heat up.” Cyn clamped her lips closed as soon as the last word left her mouth. Had she really just said that to the Queen?
The Queen lowered her head, disappointment in her eyes. “You have a point.”
Cyn felt a little sorry for her. Deep down, she was trying to do something meaningful for her grandson, as unusual as it was. And she really wanted great-grandchildren. Who knew? Maybe they’d soften her up some. “He might still choose Ava,” Cyn said, hoping to make the Queen feel better. “But the chemistry wasn’t sizzling just yet.”
Like it did when Trent and I kissed…
The Queen pinched her lips together, making her appear hawkish despite her apple cheeks. Boy, Cyn hated that look.
“So,” the Queen said, “I’m not betting on Ava, considering what you’ve told me. That leaves us with no usable footage for the marketing campaign.”
Cyn’s stomach knotted. “We did get some great shots of the resort—including the new renovations—and some really incredible footage of Trent on the beach at sunset.”
The Queen narrowed her sharp gaze at Cyn, whose heart pitched. Should she have taken a more businesslike tone when she talked about Trent and said “useful” footage, not “really incredible”? She tightened her jaw.
