Never Settle Page 2

  Eleven more days. On an island slightly bigger than a bathmat. The “resort” was nearly deserted. Off season, few tourists visited such a small place. The stoner guy in the gift shop—open a few hours every day—had stuffed a joint into his pocket the few times she’d come in. She kept waiting for smoke to come out of his pants. And hating herself for considering that the highlight of her day.

  To keep her sanity, she’d taken up running. Morning, noon, and, as now, late afternoon. Around the island. A full loop each time. At home, she barely found time to visit the company gym on the floor below hers, but here, she took up her abandoned college habit. In the dining room, she’d met a couple from Indiana, a pair of happy honeymooners from California, and an up-and-coming attorney from Miami who had been hitting on her since her arrival. Not bad looking, if you liked tall blond guys with six-pack abs. Why wasn’t she interested? Every time he made a move, an image of tall, dark, and handsome smiling at her before he boarded that plane flashed in her mind.

  But no more thinking of absent men, as of tonight. She’d agreed to have dinner with the attorney. Arabella wasn’t looking for a relationship, so any hunky guy should do. Earl Hardway, tonight is your lucky night.

  Then, maybe, the dreams disturbing her sleep would stop. She woke up every morning in a sweaty, horny heap. But someone who wasn’t there couldn’t do anything about that. And of course Emily had not bought her a BOB…her battery-operated boyfriend had become her best friend as well, of late.

  As the shadows lengthened and the sun lowered toward the lapping waves, she glanced at her phone. Useful as a clock and a camera, at least, unlike her laptop, currently useful only as a paperweight. Data did not work, either. The check-in clerk could not explain why.

  The dining room would open for dinner soon, and her sweat-slicked, bronzing skin required a shower before her date. At least their cook turned out some tasty food. Amazing how many ways conch could be served.

  Arabella rose to her feet and headed inside. She occupied a very nice house where French doors and large windows caught every breeze. Tile floors, thick stone walls, and fans in the high ceilings kept the temperature comfortable, and the bathroom…so amazing she’d snapped pictures for a remodel at her Manhattan apartment.

  Arabella stripped off the shorts and hot-pink bikini then turned on the shower, which offered a view of glossy pink beach and aquamarine water through a floor-to-ceiling window. The first day, she’d been nervous about the openness but soon realized as long as it was brighter outside than in, no problem. Now, at night…someone standing on the dark beach would get quite an eyeful. So far she’d turned off the light when showering after sunset.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she eyed her sandy skin. When she got home, she’d make an effort to work out some. Her legs ached and she’d had a few charley horses send her flying out of bed, but, man, did her calves look toned. Good enough to wear that cute and very short sundress her assistant had picked out for her. Give Earl a peek at the show for later.

  Stop grimacing, reflection. Nice enough, and certainly attractive. Successful, too, to hear him tell it. Now the mirror showed her eyes rolling. “I getcha, sister!” she told Mirror Arabella.

  If not him…the couple from Indiana. They’d let her know they would not be averse to her joining them in their room some evening. Maybe she should use this time to try something new and adventurous. She tested the idea in her mind, but the grimace in the mirror got even worse. So not a swinger!

  At least she had choices. Why were none of them appealing? Life was much less complicated when she spent all her time working.

  Someone was going to die when she got home. Slowly. Painfully. And with full knowledge of why. Since when did a strong work ethic become a crime?

  How hard would it have been for the travel coordinator to find a place with a pool, a casino…a bar! To be fair, this place had a bar. It just hadn’t been open since she got there. A drink could be had in the dining room, open only during mealtimes.

  Sometimes, a girl wanted a lemon drop martini in the afternoon. On vacation.

  Refreshed, Arabella emerged from the bathroom, rubbing her hair with one of the plush white towels, wearing the matching robe provided by the hotel. She moved to stand by the open door to the stone-floored patio, watching the fiery ball of the sun sink into the ocean. A few scattered clouds blushed orange and pink.

  Just as she turned away, a man came along, his features shadowed by the fading light. His strides ate up the beach, long legs sending sand flying behind him. He wore only a pair of short trunks showing off the carved body of a Greek statue. Maybe she was jumping into Earl’s bed too fast.

  ***

  Will Sanders raced harder once he passed Hibiscus Cottage. He hoped Miss Carmichael enjoyed the room he’d assigned her by phone while taxiing down the runway the other day. The front desk had given him her name, assuring him only one guest had arrived that day. He’d also learned the reservation was for two weeks—the exact amount of time he’d planned to be away.

  Something about the woman called to him. He’d tried to put her out of his mind, told himself he’d assigned her the home closest to his because it was the nicest, and she’d looked so tired. And kind of cranky. Anyone who traveled to a relaxing island paradise in a tailored business suit and heels, with their hair pulled back into a tight, face-stretching bun, needed all the tension release they could get. Hibiscus Cottage provided all of that and a killer view, as well.

  After setting her up, he tried to put her out of his mind. But, after a few days of visiting in Florida, he gave up and booked a return flight. Used the excuse Earl, from his old firm, was on the island, and he needed to spend some time with him. He’d almost convinced himself, too. Once the off-season ended, he’d never get away, but his family and friends could—and did—visit him often on the island.

  Ms. Carmichael reminded him of himself, when he’d been working his way up to partner in a top Miami law firm. Tense, nervous, without an ounce of happiness. He only got all that in a thirty-second glance because he recognized the look.

  As they rolled down the runway, he’d seen her standing by her luggage alone and wanted to comfort her, to show her it didn’t have to be all about anxiety and the rat race. To embrace her and tell her there were better ways to live.

  His better self tried not to wonder how all that golden-blonde hair might look freed from its bondage. To picture those full lips gliding down his abdomen to take him in her mouth and suck him until he came. Or to imagine her legs wrapped around his waist while he helped her with her stress in the most visceral of ways.

  He had returned to the island to hang out with his buddy Earl and to offer a little kind advice to a woman in desperate need of it. If she didn’t loosen up some, she’d live a miserable life. Like the one he had before arriving on the paradise he now called home.

  Life didn’t have to be hard or tense or a constant fight to advance in some big company. Success came in a lot of guises, including one where a person lived on an island away from all of the everyday worries, mixing drinks and enjoying the company of people from all over the world.

  Everyone didn’t want to be a bartender, but they had to be open to finding their own version of paradise. That or end up with hypertension, ulcers, and a half dozen other stress-related conditions. He’d thrown out all the meds but kept the empty bottles in his top drawer as a reminder. In case he ever considered returning.

  Arriving on his own porch, Will bent over, letting his breathing return to normal before heading inside to get ready for dinner. The dining room had more than food to offer tonight. He’d join Ms. Carmichael if she seemed open to company. Otherwise, he could dine with Earl. He could watch her from his friend’s table and consider his next move.

  He breathed deep, letting the island’s magic travel to every cell in his body. It’s good to be home.

  Chapter Three

  Will took in the restaurant environs. White lights strung from the rails to the
roof of the restaurant building provided a soft, romantic glow. Each table in the outside area covered with its hibiscus-print cloth. The hurricane lamps were devoid of fingerprints or splatters of anything. The staff swept the old, splintery pier every afternoon, leaving it free of debris. Whenever he returned from a trip, he ran the grounds to get a good look at everything. Was there a more beautiful island anywhere? Each dwelling stood out of sight from the others, set in an environment where the guest could enjoy privacy as well as the flowers and trees. Most offered a beach view.

  So many of their guests held stressful positions on the mainland and came here to absolutely get away from that environment. Most left their cell phones locked in the office safe, in fact, to ensure their peace and quiet, although the staff would never insist. And if the guests never found out they actually had Internet access in the office, nobody got hurt. Their tech genius/dive guide had some blocking trick for any other method of connecting to the Worldwide Web. Will didn’t ask how it worked. In case it wasn’t legal.

  Ms. Carmichael still possessed her phone. No big surprise. Most first timers chose to do so. He’d done a little research on her while in Miami. Nothing crazy. A Google search. Checked out her LinkedIn profile. A few other sites open to anyone who cared to look. If people realized how much could be found out on them, they would be shocked. He’d picked up a lot of tricks from the investigators who assisted him with cases at the firm, but rarely needed to employ them. He’d called her office and spoken to the travel coordinator, as well, presenting himself as a representative of the resort. She’d been only too glad to chat about the reservation and the woman for whom she’d made it.

  The woman had more than confirmed his guess the lovely Arabella Carmichael was a stress case of the very worst kind. A couple of weeks on the island could do wonders. Like many of their guests, she hadn’t taken a trip for pleasure in years. Over a decade, it seemed. No wonder she’d been practically vibrating with tension.

  The fairy lights’ reflections shimmered as the lagoon’s gentle wavelets rolled past. Will focused on them as he questioned his actions of the last few days.

  He always wanted to help the guests to relax and enjoy their stay. But he’d never done a background check on one before. Or cut his own vacation short to rush back and spend time with them. Surely at least one had also had ruby lips and high cheekbones, perky breasts and a small waist curving to flared hips?

  What made Arabella Carmichael different? Why did he want to know everything about her?

  “Will, you made it back early.”

  Turning from his aqueous contemplation, he grinned at his friend. “Hey, Earl. I did, indeed. Having a good time?”

  “I sure am. One of your more attractive guests will be joining me for dinner tonight and afterward…”

  “You dog. Even here, you manage to find someone to take home. What’s she like?” Will pulled out a chair and sat at a nearby table. “No, let me guess. Pretty, smart, successful?” The guy had always displayed good taste, at least in the selection process. But he was a hunter, only interested in the chase as long as the quarry remained out of reach. Once he’d bagged his prey, his interest level dropped to zero.

  “She’s all those things. I think Arabella might be the one.”

  Will’s blood chilled. “Arabella Carmichael?”

  “That’s right. You know her?”

  “Not really, but she came in with Charlie the day I left, so I got a glimpse. Very attractive woman.”

  Earl nodded vigorously. “She is hot, isn’t she? For a little thing, she’s got big tits. I can’t wait to get my hands on them.”

  Like hell. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Well, she’s put me off until now, but when I ran into her at lunchtime, she agreed to have dinner with me and well…we know what that means.”

  “Lobster?”

  Earl’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe so, if she orders it. I mean what happens after dinner.”

  “Dessert?”

  The attorney winked. “We can call it that.”

  He had to get him off the topic before he punched him in the face. “How about a drink?”

  “I don’t know. Arabella should be here any minute.”

  Will pushed to his feet. “Excellent! I’ll make three, then. Be right back.”

  By the time she finished her makeup, she’d changed her mind six times. Earl would assume she’d be going back to his room, tonight. He’d implied as much, and she hadn’t corrected him. If she wanted to have sex for therapeutic reasons, what difference did it make? Her friends, the single ones mostly, talked about one-night stands. It always sounded like too much trouble, and maybe a little soulless, but on this island with nothing else to do and an admittedly hot guy asking, it seemed silly to resist at least trying out the theory.

  The sundress fit well, sleeveless with a fitted bodice and short, flippy skirt, and its tangerine hue set off her new tan. Turning in front of the bathroom mirror with her hairbrush in her hand, she decided the high sandals might be possible to wear on the hard-packed sand by the water. So she was short. If Earl didn’t like her type, he could look elsewhere. But considering the guy had been practically panting every time he got close to her, he wouldn’t care if he had to bend down to kiss her.

  After a few final strokes with the brush, she set it down and gathered her hair into a high ponytail. She’d promised to meet Earl in the dining room in about fifteen minutes, so she grabbed her little clutch purse and tossed in a lipstick and a couple of other necessities and headed off along the darkened beach. Her thoughts fluttered everywhere, but mostly on the rest of the evening. Aside from his overly obvious interest in bedding her, he seemed nice enough, if also a little career driven. Like her. Yet, he’d still taken time off for a vacation.

  Oh well, driven or not, she didn’t expect a lifetime with him. Just some quality bedroom time. Help her relax a little. Already she could move her neck better, and the constant throbbing in her temples had eased. A couple of nights of wild lovin’ with a cute guy could go a long way toward healing. How could she forget?

  Practicality in all things.

  Following the curve of the beach, she reached the northern tip of the island and inward where the dining hall stood on the end of a dock reaching out over the lagoon. Not a very resort-type name for the place, but it’s what everyone called it. Most of the tables were outside, but a small indoor area offered a cozy spot on a cool evening. Earl told her the owner had all the guests come to his house, once, when a hurricane loomed near enough to make the restaurant’s location less than safe. Tonight, the few clouds from sunset had fled, and a big yellow moon hung over the ocean. Very romantic.

  For those who cared about things like that.

  As she stepped onto the wooden surface, strains of Jimmy Buffet’s “Come Monday” carried to her on the warm, damp breeze, and she picked up her pace. The restaurant, little more than a shack to all outward appearances, but the one time she’d gone in to ask a question, she’d been amazed at the honey-colored wood tables and chairs glowing in candlelight. Candles flickered in hurricane glass lamps on the outdoor tables. The honeymoon couple sat side by side, kissing and murmuring to one another while their dinner grew cold. What did they care? They lived on love.

  Ugh. Hadn’t she lived long enough to know better? She’d been days from the wedding when Don cheated on her and reminded her pushing aside her career goals for romance made no sense. If he hadn’t left the firm shortly thereafter, she might have.

  Skirting the huggy pair as if they could contaminate her by any contact, she headed for Earl, seated at a table along the outer railing.

  “Great location. Been here long?” Taking the chair across from him, she set her clutch on the decking next to her.

  Earl looked especially island chic in a cacophonous floral print shirt and cargo shorts. Sperry boat shoes completed the ensemble. Same shoes as the Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. His blond hair never moved in the breeze, though, heav
y-duty product glistening under the fairy lights. He offered her a broad, white-toothed smile. Shark!

  “Just a few minutes. You’re right on time.”

  She licked her lips, darting her tongue back inside when his gaze focused on her lips. “Oh, good. I hate being late.”

  He leaned close, and she had to fight not to move back. “It’s the islands, Arabella. You can’t be late on island time.”

  She laughed, edgy and uncomfortable. “Oh, sure. I suppose.” Why was she so wound? She’d been around Earl since she got there with no such reaction. Of course, she hadn’t planned to have sex with him before. All the more reason to do it and get it over with. And not to wait so long between lovers again. “Shall we order drinks? I could use a martini or maybe…” The words dried up in her throat as a man came toward them holding three glasses on a tray.

  “Three Goombay Smashes.” He set them on the table then, to her surprise, sat down and joined them. “Will Sanders.” He thrust out his hand, and she lifted hers and accepted his grip. “We almost met when I was boarding the plane for the mainland.”

  “Did we? Oh, I remember.” She blamed the electricity prickling up her arm and rocketing into her core for her coy words. “Arabella Carmichael. Are you…the bartender?”

  “At least some of the time.” He waved toward the trio of tall glasses topped with pineapple wedges. “I made these. Give me your opinion.”

  “Goombay…?”

  “Smash.” He rested an elbow on the table. “Very popular drink in these parts. Most people make them wrong.”

  Edging her fingers back from his, she wrapped them around the glass, welcoming its coolness under her palm. “What’s in it?”

  “Since I obtained the recipe through a highly secret source, I can’t tell you, but take a sip. See if you can figure it out.” She’d know that smile anywhere.