Like One of the Family

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “But what about dat space you were going to lease in town?” Billy asked, scooping the snow-white flesh from the coconut. “What’s happening wit dat?”

  Heath closed his eyes, trying not to think of how Lora would react to his plan. “I don’t know. Until Lora and I manage to clear the debt Larimar is in, I’m screwed.”

  “You could walk away, you don’ owe dat woman nothing,” Billy said.

  “No, but I owe her grandfather everything and I wouldn’t do that to him.”

  “You a good mon,” Billy said, filling his mouth with the rest of the coconut. Finished, he leaned back in the old ratty lawn chair and closed his eyes, seemingly content. Heath envied his peace of mind. “So you got new glass to show me?” he asked. “Dat las’ piece was right fancy. You bettah tan most, you know? And I tell you if it crap, yah?”

  Heath laughed softly. “That you would, my friend,” he acknowledged. “Thanks, mon.” They made small talk and Heath showed off some of his newest pieces, ones he was waiting to showcase in his own store instead of Larimar, and then Billy said good-night and left.

  Later, when the humid heat of the day still remained and the fans were doing little more than pushing the heated air around, he tossed in his bed and considered if another swim was in order. He thought of padding down the trail to his slice of beach but even the allure of the water couldn’t sufficiently compel him. He knew that the water would clear away the sweat and refresh him but it would do nothing for the thoughts that kept sleep at bay.

  If he’d had the balls, he would’ve just asked Lora out long ago but the timing had never seemed right. Maybe then, he would’ve gotten her out of his system and today her reappearance would no more warrant a blip on his radar than a tourist that was here and then gone with the next cruise ship.

  He glanced at the digital clock gleaming in the dark and groaned when he saw the time. Midnight. Deliberately closing his eyes, he tried forcing sleep to come. Her face—her damn gorgeous face with those witchy blue eyes—jumped into frame. Followed by the memory of her supermodel body. Was it too much to ask for a little unsightly facial hair or a spare tire rounding her middle? Apparently. Lora had neither. In fact, her skin glowed in the island heat and whereas sometimes the island made people sweat like hogs, she simply glistened.

  Like a clueless houseguest who didn’t have the sense to know when he or she wasn’t welcome, the sudden awareness of his groin made him grit his teeth. An erection? Now? He rolled to his stomach, intent on smothering the stubborn arousal that came unbidden, but the friction only served to make him want to grind into the mattress. He’d never even kissed the woman and yet, by evidence of his body’s reaction, he wanted her—bad.

  No, he told himself with a growl. Not in a million years.

  But don’t you want to know what it feels like to be skin to skin with Lora Bell? To taste the salt from her neck? To hear the sounds coming from her throat as you buried your face in the cleft of her soft flesh?

  God yes, he answered miserably, hating himself for such weakness, and wondering if he’d ever be free of this pathetic yearning for the woman.

  She won’t stay, he reasoned with the sly voice urging him into doing something stupid. She couldn’t wait to leave. Her life in Chicago was everything she’d ever wanted, which was the exact opposite of anything he could ever offer. So why continue to chase after an illusion?

  He knew the answer and it struck an uncomfortable, knowing chord within him. Lora was a sickness deep in his blood, that was neither healthy nor treatable but maybe it could be managed for the short time she remained on the island.

  Don’t touch her, a different voice cautioned, the same calm, steady voice of reason and logic that ruled his head when he hammered out business deals. It was a voice that he trusted in most instances so why he immediately tensed with irritation at the sound advice was baffling.

  You want her. Give in.

  “I’d rather chew off my own foot,” he said to the empty darkness as if voicing it out loud would give the sentiment strength.

  Deep inside laughter rumbled. He swore and bounded from the bed, grabbing his towel as he went.

  Looked like he was going for a swim after all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LORA WOKE EARLY and after a quick shower she bounded downstairs to find Pops for breakfast. She ran into Lilah in the hall who was carrying a lean black cat with a white belly. The awkward tension was a physical presence that crowded them both.

  “Who’s that?” Lora asked, curious.

  Lilah hefted the cat over her shoulder like a baby and the cat simply accepted this new position as if it were completely natural.

  “Maho,” Lilah answered. “I found him a few weeks ago.” She lifted her chin. “I’m keeping him. Pops said I could.”

  A cat in the resort? “What about guests who might have allergies. Maho could be a liability.”

  “He stays in the private section and he sleeps in my room. End of story. I’m keeping him,” she repeated, then a tiny smile broke on her face that was clearly meant for the cat and not Lora. “He fetches better than a dog. He’s an island cog.”

  Island cats—like island cars—were a special breed. They were simply different. A cog was a cat-dog. And Lora could plainly see this was not a battle to take on at the moment. She conceded with a smile, hoping her sister would take the gesture as the extension of an olive branch. “I was just going to see if Pops was free for breakfast…want to join me?”

  Unfortunately, Lilah wasn’t in a forgiving mood, which surprised Lora as her youngest sister had always been so easygoing.

  “No, thanks. I have plans,” Lilah said, moving past Lora, her lithe hips swaying beneath the soft-pink-and-white sarong, causing Lora a momentary pang of jealousy for her sister’s willowy frame. Lora had been blessed, and she said that with complete sarcasm, with full rounded curves that were more than a nuisance most times. Her stomach was flat enough—thanks to countless hours at the gym—but her breasts were far too large and often got in the way, and her hips were always causing her to wiggle her way into jeans that hugged almost obscenely.

  Frankly, she’d rather have the waifish figure that Lilah had or the athletic build of Lindy—anything aside from the figure she’d been given.

  It was really hard to be taken seriously in the world of business when you were built like a porn star, she thought with an unhappy frown. Men often talked to her breasts instead of her face, and if they weren’t trying to get her into bed, they were speculating who’d already slept with her. She swallowed, wondering if the true reason she’d been fired had had nothing to do with her job performance but rather her decision not to sleep with a client to curry favor. She’d sacrificed plenty of her dignity and integrity for that company… Eventually, she’d feel her termination was a blessing, right?

  “Lilah,” she called after her sister. “We should talk, okay?”

  In answer, Lilah gave a halfhearted wave without turning around. Seconds later she was out of view and gone.

  “Damn,” she murmured. She’d really pissed off her baby sis. She supposed she had been heavy-handed on her. The admission pricked at her conscious and she hated the feeling. Lora had always felt apart from the twins, which given the fact that the girls had shared a womb, was probably natural, but she certainly hadn’t helped matters she supposed by keeping to herself most times.

  Wait a minute…why was she taking the blame? It wasn’t as if the twins had gone out of their way to include her.

  Oh, great. She was arguing with herself. Shaking her head to clear it and to provide commentary on how she was losing her mind with the island heat, she went to find Pops.

  She didn’t find him on the terrace as she expected but instead, in the gift shop.

  Puzzled, she wandered in. “Pops what are you doing?
Everything okay?”

  He turned at her voice, a piece of fused glass in his hands. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, putting the delicate vase flute in her hand. She accepted it with a quizzical expression, but agreed as she turned it over in her hand. The craftsmanship was exquisite. She thought of the deal she’d struck with Heath yesterday about holding off judgment until she’d seen the inventory. Now she understood why he’d been so adamant. “I always appreciated people who make art like this. Your Grams loves this stuff, too. She’s an artist, you know,” he said in a proud voice as if sharing a secret with Lora. “I think Lilah is following in Grams’s footsteps.”

  Lora lifted her brow, gesturing to the vase. “Oh? Is this her work?” she asked, trying to look past the part where Pops was referencing Grams as if she were just in the other room.

  “Oh, no,” he shook his head, accepting the vase from Lora to replace on the shelf next to a series of others in the same style. “Lilah is doing watercolors and pastels but she doesn’t sell her work. She’s good enough, of course, but you know our littlest sugar bird, she’s so private. Maybe she needs a little nudge from her big sister…you know, give her some encouragement. You should see her work. It’s inspiring.”

  Inspiring, eh? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had described her talents in such glowing terms. Ruthless, predatory, heartless…those were the words she was most familiar with. And now that she didn’t have a job to warrant those skills where did that leave her? She doubted anyone outside of her circle was interested in hiring a woman who had once stolen a client right from beneath the nose of one of their top competitors. She’d been in fine form by planting incriminating evidence and supplying carefully constructed innuendos that her competitor was ruining the client’s brand, something that was suicide for an established company with high stakes. Her methods hadn’t mattered as long as she’d landed the account and could deliver the goods.

  Damn, she swore silently, shifting in discomfort when she realized she’d been too busy cultivating skills no one in their right mind would crow about. It’d been a source of pride in her private circle to be considered so ruthless but now that she’d been cast outside the circle, those attributes didn’t seem so great.

  Stop it. She was who she was. Not to mention, if she didn’t cease replaying every move, every decision in her head that may have led up to her losing her job, she’d go crazy. And she had a feeling her family could only handle one crazy person at a time. Swallowing, she refocused on Pops. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t think Lilah wants much to do with me right now. She’s pretty mad.”

  Pops frowned. “Why?”

  Lora hesitated, unsure of how much she could explain without Pops losing his grip on reality. “Um, sister stuff,” she said vaguely, hating that she had to censor herself to prevent a meltdown. Quick to change the subject, she began to peruse the inventory, intrigued by the change she saw. “So, the new artist…do I know him or her? This is good stuff. Very pretty.” She checked the price on one item. “And priced well. Does it sell?”

  “Better than that awful touristy crap,” Pops said with a burst of lucidity that reminded her of the Pops she’d left behind all those years ago. Pops had always been an astute businessman in spite of his eccentric nature. She supposed she’d inherited her knack for numbers and strategy from him. The knowledge warmed her inside and a smile followed. He added, “I always hated that stuff, you know. It said nothing about the island, nothing that made it special.”

  Her smile faded. She’d been the one to suggest that “touristy crap” as he’d called it. It’d been one of her first suggestions after she’d graduated college with her master’s degree in marketing. Easy money pandering to the guests with T-shirts, mugs and visors. “It made money,” she reminded him a bit stiffly, crossing her arms. “Money that was easily made because the inventory was cost-effective. This stuff, while beautiful, is expensive.” She lifted a shallow bowl with gorgeous flared sides as an example. “Tourists don’t want to take home pricey breakables because no matter how pretty, if it’s not packaged correctly, or shipped, it’s going to arrive at their home in a pile of broken shards of glass.”

  “The sales are good,” Pops maintained stubbornly. “Just ask your Grams.”

  Lora bit back a frustrated sigh. “Okay. I’ll do that,” she said, a wave of unhappiness washing over her. The gift shop was filled with expensive items that were hardly impromptu purchases easily stuffed into a carry-on. She suspected if she went over the books, she’d find the numbers weren’t as hearty as Pops claimed. She hadn’t had a chance to go over the contract yet but somehow she’d have to break it with the artist and get the tourist-friendly items returned to the shelves, which would only serve to put her and Heath at odds. She rubbed her forehead, her stomach reminding her that she’d been on her way to breakfast. “So who is this amazing artist we’ve put all our faith into these days?” she asked, her mind already moving to the legal wrangling she might have to put into play to get the shop back on track.

  Pops broke into a proud grin usually reserved for his sugar birds and his answer caused her stomach to pitch to the floor.

  “None other than our Heath Cannon.”

  Our Heath.

  Good God. Suddenly, it all made terrible sense.

  That son of a bitch.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LORA COCKED HER HEAD and heard Heath’s voice as he chatted with a guest or two in the lobby. She took a deep breath and flexed her clenched palms, but it didn’t help. Anger—and something else—sang in her veins, blotting out her self-control.

  “Real slick, Cannon,” she said in a tight voice when he rounded the corner to the office where she stood behind the desk. She’d been searching for the specific agreement that detailed Heath’s business arrangement with Pops so she’d have more information at her disposal. So far, she’d come up empty and she’d made a mess, but she didn’t care. She was too mad to care.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, wary confusion in his tone.

  “The inventory. I saw it.” The silence didn’t surprise her, though a part of her wanted him to make some sort of protest of innocence. When he didn’t, her heart sank just a little. “Funny how you didn’t mention it was your personal inventory on display at Larimar. No wonder you’re so protective of it and why you tried putting off this moment for as long as possible. You’re despicable,” she shouted, grabbing the first thing her hand could connect with to hurl at his head.

  He ducked just in time to avoid being brained by a marble pen holder. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he exclaimed. “You can’t go throwing shit at people. What if that had hit me?” he demanded angrily.

  “That was the point and if I’d had better aim you’d be wearing a marble-pen-holder-sized dent in your big, fat head.”

  “You’re a piece of work,” Heath said, disgusted, glancing down at the broken pen holder. “Your Pops is going to miss that. It was a present from your Grams. But then, you already knew that, right?”

  Damn it, she swore silently, her hot temper doused by immediate regret. But honestly, Larimar’s future had been leveraged for someone else’s personal gain, which meant there were bigger problems than a broken pen holder. “I’m sure it can be fixed, which is more than I can say about this mess that you’ve put us in.”

  “Listen, I was all ready to go over the financials and talk shop with you about Larimar and my part, but forget it. I’m not your lackey, your subordinate or even your friend, so I don’t have to listen to this verbal abuse. You got that, Lora? I don’t have to listen!”

  “Yes, you do,” she countered shrilly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Away from you. I’m going to spend the day on the water. I need to calm down.” He walked away, flipping her off as he went. “See ya, babe,” he added with a healthy dose of
sarcasm that surprised her with its sting.

  Oh! That jerk!

  That was so typical of a man to just think he could end the conversation because he didn’t like the direction. Well, screw that. The conversation was over when she decided it was over.

  Lora ran after Heath, but he’d already jumped into his Jeep and was rumbling down the road toward the marina. “Lilah! I need a ride!” she called out, almost screaming her sister’s name. “Hurry!”

  Lilah appeared, thankfully this time without the cat, though she didn’t look pleased to answer her sister’s call. That would have to wait. For now, she had to catch Heath. “I need you to drive me to the marina,” she instructed, assuming Lilah would comply immediately when she heard the urgency in Lora’s voice.

  Yeah, not so much.

  She should have remembered that Lilah had a decidedly deep stubborn streak and she didn’t do what she didn’t want to do until she was ready to do it. So much for that theory everyone subscribed to that Lilah was the meek one.

  “Why?” Lilah asked, sitting behind the counter in the lobby covering for Celly, who was on a break. Lora had been unsuccessful as of yet to convince Pops that Celly wasn’t the right fit for the resort. Pops liked Celly’s no-nonsense approach to life and had simply patted Lora’s shoulder in response to her concerns about the brusque front-desk woman.

  “Because Heath is suffering under the misunderstanding that we are through with the conversation, whereas I want to tear him a new one for taking advantage of this family.”

  “He didn’t take advantage of anyone in this family. You need to chill out,” Lilah openly scoffed.

  Clearly, Lora realized, no help would come from her sullen sister on this score. “Can you please just drive me to the marina?”

  Lilah sighed and shook her head, as if Lora were the one being difficult, and quickly texted Celly to return so they could leave.