Like a Hurricane

“You’re not still thinking about that, are you?” he asked. “Forget about it. I have.”

Liar. “I’ll be thinking about you for the rest of my life.”

“Wow.” He grinned at her. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. It’ll only happen when I play one of those ‘reveal-your-most-embarrassing-moments’ party games.”

He leaned his shoulder against the door, his arms crossed. He was definitely not banging, but his wide, muscular chest and the few dark hairs that sneaked out of his unbuttoned collar distracted her so much she didn’t complain.

“So what are your other embarrassing moments?”

She heard the question, but only listened to the cadence of his mesmerizing voice.

Watching and listening to this guy was a heady experience. She was definitely light-headed. “Tell me yours first.”

He leaned closer. “It’ll cost you.”

She sucked in a little breath at his proximity, catching a whiff of peppermint and maybe the very first drops of heated male sweat that dampened the strands of black hair that fell on his forehead. That reminded her of the nasty no air-conditioning comment.

“I’ve paid my dues,” she managed to respond. “You’ve seen my underwear.”

“Not really.”

She arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“Just one little tiny scrap of lace,” he admitted.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Mac wasn’t going to cut her an inch of slack.

He moved closer, invading the last vestige of her personal space. He wasn’t smiling, but his dark-chocolate eyes burned as his gaze traveled over her, lingering on her revealing tank top before returning to her eyes. He parted his lips and she caught a momentary glimpse of his tongue.

Light-headed intensified to bona fide dizziness.

“Blue is definitely your color.”

He had to have heard the little sound that tumbled from her mouth. Because he lowered his face even closer to hers, eliminating all the space and all the air. “Lingerie that matches your eyes. You could start a whole new fashion trend.”

She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. He was close enough to kiss. Her heart thumped, blood rushing melodiously through her ears. Kiss, kiss, kiss it sang to her.

“Kiss.”

Before she realized what she’d said, he did.

His mouth came down on hers gently at first, but the instant their lips met, he increased the pressure. He put his hands on her hips and turned her body toward him. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her into him, pressing her into his rock-hard chest and rock-hard…

She broke the contact, but he kept a firm grip on her hips, then nuzzled his mouth at her ear.

“You said ‘kiss.’” His breath skimmed the hairs on the back of her neck.

She shivered. “I said miss.” She gently pushed at the impressive shoulders to look at him. “I meant…maybe someone will miss you and call the front desk—”

He shook his head. “I’m here all alone.”

“What about…back home? Your…wife?” She had to be sure this was safe and legal. Because it felt anything but.

He shook his head again, his lips curling in a wistful smile. “No wife.”

It was too good to be true.

He was too good to be true.

“What about you?” he asked, his thumbs circling each of her hip bones in a maddening, mesmerizing rhythm.

Obviously, he was asking if she were attached, married or otherwise unable to continue what they’d just started. With the exception of two feeble attempts in her early twenties, she basically defined unattached. Should she let him know that? Or just back away?

This was her chance for common sense to outweigh what he was doing to the other five. This was her chance to prove that humans really do reason, when animals only act on instinct. This was her chance to end this insanity. Should she take it?

Not a chance.

“No one is missing me,” she told him truthfully.

“Then please let me kiss you again.” That silken voice caressed her with the same power of his hands. “That elevator door might open any minute and I hate missed opportunities.”

Her gaze dropped from his eyes, over his classic Roman nose, his handsome, hollow cheeks, pausing at the lips that she’d just tasted.

She wasn’t going to miss this one. She stood on her toes to meet him and this time, his tongue darted directly into her mouth. And out again. And in. And out.

His not-so-subtle message turned her legs to water. In fact, her entire lower body had liquefied and she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from melting onto the ground.

She refused to think about what she was doing. Kissing a stranger named Mac, locked on the empty third floor of her resort, when she should be downstairs facing the biggest professional and personal dilemma in her twenty-eight years on earth.

This was sheer madness.

This was sheer delight.

He eased her against the elevator door and she could feel the seam of the two wooden panels against her back. In one smooth movement, his hands traveled up her rib cage and rested on the outside of her breasts. Waiting for permission. The woman in her knew exactly how to give the signal. All she had to do was breathe deeply, press her chest closer and he’d accept the invitation to touch her. He wanted her—there was no doubt about his response, against her stomach. And his heart thumped in the same staccato as hers, against her chest.

She was long past dizzy now and on her way to full-fledged swooning. She couldn’t possibly open her eyes. She couldn’t possibly stop this feeling of falling. Falling into Mac.

She felt a vibration, heard a groan.

As the elevator doors clunked, he swooped her away, saving them both from tumbling into the car as it jerked open.

“Damn.” He nipped her lower lip with his teeth as he tightened his embrace. “We’ve been rescued.”

Nicole alternately blessed and cursed the ancient Otis. Why did it never work when she wanted it to, and now…

She forced herself to slide out of his arms and step into the elevator. With a steadying breath, she reached down for her jacket and briefcase. “Going down?” She tried to sound casual, but his eyes twinkled in response.

She hit Two and the doors rumbled closed. The car lurched. Kind of like her heart did every time she looked at him.

“I have a better idea.” He leaned very close to her ear, his husky voice vibrating as much as the machinery around them. “Why don’t we bring this sucker to a crashing halt somewhere between the second floor and…heaven?”

She actually considered it. Then blinked the thought away. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “My brain isn’t working any better than the elevator.”

He stepped back and gave her a reassuring smile. Then he took her chin in his fingertips and lifted her face to his.

“Mine stopped functioning with my first glimpse of the lady in blue.”

The elevator thudded to a halt on the second floor. If she didn’t stop, she was going to do something she might really regret. Never forget, but really regret.

“This is your floor,” she said as the doors rumbled open.

“Not exactly.” He traced her chin with his thumb. “I haven’t checked in yet.”

He hadn’t—? She stiffened and took a step back, closer to the button panel. “Too much of a dump for you?”

“Well, you gotta admit, it’s third-rate at best.” He winked at her as he hit Close Door. “The help is nice, though.”

Oh, God. The help is stupid. She stabbed Open Door and glared at him. “Here’s your stop, Mac.” She put her hand on his back, smiled, and gave him a push toward the open door. He stepped into the hall, a look of humor and surprise…and expectation on his face. Did he think she was coming with him? After he lied and called her resort a dump?

She pressed the Close Door button and for once, her elevator cooperated, leaving the most incredible man she’d ever met and kissed—both in the space of five minutes—looking stunned as the doors closed between them.

Nicole rushed into the empty lobby and headed for the front desk, which stood unattended because she couldn’t afford a night crew. She yanked open a drawer and rummaged for something she hadn’t needed in a long, long time.

With a flourish, she slammed the No Vacancy sign on the desk. On her way to her villa, she sent the elevator up to two, but ran like the wind before it could return.

The last of the glittering moonbeams had faded from the silver waves of the Gulf. In their place, the first few rays of sunlight warmed the lazy surf that lapped in a nonstop rhythm just about fifty feet from Nicole’s patio. She’d passed the entire night curled into one of her rattan chairs, staring at the water and second-guessing her overdramatic exit.

It certainly wasn’t the first sleepless night she’d spent counting stars and pondering her life. Before the hurricane, she’d often sit outside and think about her parents. About the dark days when she’d arrived in St. Joseph’s Island, eight years old and scared as a lost kitten. When all she had in the whole world were some memories of two wonderful people, and a strange and colorful new “mother” named Freddie.

But after Hurricane Dante made its unwelcome visit to her world, nearly every night was devoted to the climb out of financial ruin. She’d spent hours just accepting the fact that while the rest of St. Joseph’s Island got an insurance-induced face-lift, Mar Brisas got a Band-Aid.

Not that she wanted her little Spanish gem to be transformed into one of the palatial towers of stucco and glass that were rising daily along the ten-mile stretch of one of Florida’s prettiest beaches. That was precisely what she did not want. But the fact remained that the Mar Brisas insurance policy had a loophole in it the size of the Gulf of Mexico. She’d ended up with virtually no money to restore the beachfront suites and villas she’d spent her life savings and inheritance to buy five years ago.

Now it was darn near foreclosure time and the bank was no longer fending off the buyers who’d shown interest in her prime real estate.

But money was the last thing on her mind last night, she admitted as she crossed the sand and headed to her office, dressed once again in her usual jeans and baggy top. Yesterday’s suit had been for a meeting that, thank God, she’d had the good sense to cancel.

Instead of traipsing around her property with some heartless Donald Trump wanna-be from New Yawk City, she’d found herself in the arms of the most desirable man she’d ever met.

Who lied about staying there and spoke the truth about the resort. That was why she sent him packing, right?

Oh, yeah. Right. She’d pushed him out that elevator door for the same reason she’d walked away from any other man who ever appealed to her—not that many had. Oh, maybe a few. There was one in college, and another just before she bought Mar Brisas. Although she’d been intimate with both of them, she hadn’t been close. Close meant permanence. And permanence meant losing. Isn’t that the lesson life taught her twenty years ago when her parents went out to dinner one night and never came home?

She shook her head and yanked the lobby door. Not now, Nic. She had immediate problems to face. Like Tom Northcott. He’d been patient so far, but he was still a bank vice president and his loyalty was to Marine Federal. He’d be furious when he found out she’d cancelled the meeting he’d arranged with Jorgensen Development’s golden boy.

She squared her shoulders and purposely passed the offending elevator without so much as a wistful glance. It was probably stuck anyway. Somewhere between the second floor…and heaven.

Nicole’s sole remaining full-timer was already at her desk. Sally Chambers’ quick smile and dancing green eyes were always a welcome sight, but this morning they seemed a little brighter than normal.

“Some idiot put a No Vacancy sign on the front desk last night,” Sally said, standing up to follow her boss into the office.

“Really.” She threw her bag under her desk and gave Sally a non-committal look. “Imagine that.”

Sally shrugged. “’Sokay. I’m glad we found it. We’re going to need it soon.”

“Hah!” Nicole’s laugh was purposely wry as she fell into her seat. “Got a couple hundred grand in your back pocket, Sal?”

Sally dropped into one of the guest chairs and crossed her arms. “Got the next best thing, Nic.”

Nicole paused in the act of turning on her computer and looked hard at her friend. “Hit me.”

“Free advertising, that’s what.”

“Nothing’s free in life, sweetie.” She clicked the mouse, then settled into her chair, tucking her legs under her. “But don’t let that stop you. What gives?”

“My dad has reserved a billboard on Route One to advertise his mattress outlet store, but he doesn’t want to put up an ad for a month, when he kicks off his big sale on kings and queens. It was worth it to him to get the special rate. It’s going to sit blank for a whole month.”

“And…?”

“We can have the space.” She looked positively victorious. “To advertise Mar Brisas.”

Nicole shook her head slowly, not wanting to douse Sally’s wonderful enthusiasm, but her young office manager didn’t know all aspects of advertising. “Sally, there are hidden costs to design and produce an ad. Artwork, graphics, copy writing.”

“I talked to my dad about that,” Sally said, bouncing her red, cropped curls as she nodded. “If you write the copy, his in-house ad guy will arrange for the production. If it’s just words, no pictures. In one color.”

“That ought to be an award-winning ad.”

“It doesn’t have to win awards,” Sally insisted. “It has to win guests. Just hit ’em over the head with your message.”

Nicole’s lips curled into a smile. “And that would be?”

“All the great things about Mar Brisas.” Sally’s green eyes sparkled. “Authentic Spanish tile, genuine rosewood trim—”

“A fifty-year-old electrical system and an elevator that predates World War II.” Nicole hated to be the voice of reality, but she was tired of fighting this. “Come on, Sal, it’s awful, ancient and dilapidated.”

Isn’t that what he had said?

Sally frowned and leaned forward. “What the heck is the matter with you today?”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I had another sleepless night.”

Sally reached across the desk and took Nicole’s hand. “I know how hard this has been on you, Nic. Don’t give up now. We have this one chance. It’s practically free.”

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Just call Tom Northcott at the bank. Admit that I chickened out yesterday and ask him to reschedule a meeting with that McGrath guy.”

“Okay,” Sally said, barely hiding the defeat in her voice. “But let’s see if he’ll hold off for a week.”

Hopelessness pinched her heart. “What good is another week going to do us?”

“Just a couple of bookings and we’d be able to cover this month’s payment. You told me that last week, Nic.”

A whisper of hope blew against her heart. Maybe Sally was right. “We haven’t spent a dime on advertising,” she said, more to convince herself than Sally. “It couldn’t hurt, I guess.”

Sally grabbed a yellow notepad and stuck a pencil in Nicole’s hand. “Come on. You’re creative. Let’s come up with an ad campaign.”

“I don’t know anything about advertising, Sal.”

“Sure you do.” Sally pushed the pencil as though she could force it to create. “Everybody knows what sells. Sex sells.”

Nicole’s eyes popped open. Could Sally read what was on her mind? To cover, she snapped her fingers and pointed. “Yeah. I could hang naked from the billboard.”

Without a smile, Sally raised a dubious eyebrow. “As if you’d let the world see what you’re hiding under all those loose flowing tops.”

Nicole remembered the look on Mac’s face when he’d first dropped his gaze. Why had she taken her damn jacket off? She always hid her generous bosom behind something like it. She hadn’t expected some gorgeous stranger to walk in the elevator, to lure her with deep brown eyes, to kiss her until she couldn’t think—

“Hey, earth to Whitaker.” Standing, Sally waved a hand in front of Nicole. “See? You’re already in a fog of creativity.”

Nicole laughed. A fog—but not of creativity. What had Sally said? Sex sells. “Sex sells beer and perfume,” she murmured. “Can it sell a resort?”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed? If she could promise a few minutes of the experience she had in the elevator and hall last night, she could fill the place to capacity.

“Maybe you’re right, Sal.” An unfamiliar tingle started in her stomach. She leaned back and twisted her hair up and closed her eyes. “What if we got people to believe there was something…in the air at Mar Brisas? Romance. Attraction. Heat.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Sally tapped the desk excitedly. “Our resort is intimate, it’s personal—”

“That’s it!” Nicole pointed the pencil at Sally. “A personal ad! No, no. Not just one…” She stood up, snapping her fingers as fast as her thoughts. “A series of them.”

“A series?”

“Yes,” Nicole insisted, looking at Sally, but seeing the ad in her mind’s eye. “They’d look like personal ads from one lover to another, but really they’d be subtle messages about the romance and pleasures of Mar Brisas. We could change them once a week and tell a little story. All—” She held up her hands and grinned. “—in text and one color.”

Sally perched on the corner of the desk, her eyes bright. “Oh, I get it, Nic. I really do. All that commuter traffic on Route One—people would actually be looking for the next installment of the Mar Brisas love affair.”

Nicole turned the yellow pad sideways, to simulate a billboard, sketching the outline of a rectangle from end to end. “We can play up the surf, the evening air, always reinforcing the message that it was the historic, authentic resort at the root of the relationship.”

Sally’s phone rang and she backed toward the door. “Write. I’ll be right back.”

When she left, Nicole studied the blank pad and waited for inspiration. None arrived. She turned to the window and cranked the jalousies open, taking a deep breath of pungent salt air, enjoying the familiar mix of coconut and hibiscus.

God she loved this place. St. Joseph’s Island, her Aunt Freddie and a host of real, wonderful people had saved her as a child. Now she had to save Mar Brisas.

She needed inspiration. She tapped the pencil on the pad and stared at it. What inspired her?

Soul kisses and anxious caresses.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to write, not remember the night before. What really inspired her?

That astounding flicky thing he did with his tongue.

“Come on, Nic,” she chided herself. “Get creative.”

But didn’t writers get their inspiration from real life? Okay, this was a fictional personal ad. She wasn’t looking for the man of her dreams because she didn’t believe in fairy tales, never had.

But if she did, it would be Mac. She just knew it.

And that, she heard a little voice whisper in her head, was exactly why she’d run away from him like a scared rabbit.

She nibbled on the rubber eraser. Forget Mac.

But this was advertising and Sally was right: sex sells. So Mac had to be her inspiration. Plus, he was long gone from St. Joseph’s Island. He’d never see the ad.

She started to write.

Looking for the mystery man at Mar Brisas Resort for another trip to heaven. Let’s meet on the endless white sand for more pleasure in paradise. You can find it at Mar Brisas…

Her pencil froze. How should she sign her little message? With a smile and a quick flourish, she scratched the closing words. Of course. She knew all along how she’d sign it.

The Lady in Blue.

Three

It was nearly midnight on Sunday when Quinn zipped his rented Mustang convertible down Route One. He’d expected to be there much earlier, but the flight had been delayed. About a mile before the causeway, he hit eighty and tightened his grip on the wheel. He had to get to St. Joseph’s Island.

How would she respond to him?

He’d asked himself that question for a solid week while he waited none too patiently for Nick Whitaker to confirm another meeting date.

He didn’t know the answer to the question, but he knew one thing. She was the one.

Quinn McGrath, a confirmed bachelor, an admitted womanizer, a confessed workaholic and the quintessential guy’s guy, had a dark secret that he might have revealed if he’d been alone for another hour with that woman. He was a hopeless romantic. He firmly believed that somewhere out there, his soul mate existed. His one and only.

His feisty Irish grandmother promised him that “there’s someone for everyone.” And Quinn believed her. He had no problem sampling the others…but he was waiting for her.

And he’d found her. Hanging out of a ceiling of an elevator. If only he knew her name.

He smiled at his brilliant plan to tack a week’s vacation on to his trip. It would really help him get to know the place, he’d told Dan. Of course, Dan Jorgensen had balked at the idea of time off. Who would want vacation when you could work?

But Dan finally bought the rationale and Quinn immediately booked one of the beachfront villas under the name of MacDougall. He didn’t want the owner to know he was staying there until after he played hardball in the meeting with him. But he wanted to be sure any staff checking for a “Mac” would be alerted to his presence. He’d optimistically called and confirmed the one-bedroom villa had a king-size bed.

If only he knew her—

Quinn slammed to a stop and the Mustang swerved in traffic. Behind him, brakes screamed and someone laid angrily on a horn. But all he could see were the giant blue letters on a billboard awash with uplighting.

He stared at the words, a breath trapped in his lungs like an animal in a steel cage. He ignored the melee of horns and hollers that responded to his unscheduled stop, reading the message out loud and lingering over the last four words. The Lady in Blue.

Someone in the car behind him opened his window and yelled at Quinn. “You okay, buddy? You need help?”

Quinn waved out his hand in the air. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

Fine. Oh, man. He was more than fine. With a long last look, he jammed the gas pedal and he let out a whoop. As he swung the convertible onto the causeway, he banged the steering wheel and called out to the stars above. “Yes!”

The Lady in Blue was looking for him. For more pleasure in paradise. He’d waited thirty-three years to find his soul mate, kissing a lot of willing candidates in the process. But now he’d found her and she wanted him. He broke every speed limit in St. Joseph’s getting to Mar Brisas.

Of course, the apathetic Whitaker hadn’t staffed the front desk at midnight. He picked up the house phone, but before he dialed, he noticed an envelope next to it marked Mr. and Mrs. MacDougall. In it, the key to 1601, which he dropped in his pocket. He crushed the envelope and tossed it in the trash, smiling at the assumption that the MacDougalls came in pairs.

Well, he certainly hoped they would.

He crossed the lobby and sent a sneaky glance at the elevator. Just waiting for another trip to heaven with a stop in lingerie. He visualized those dangling gorgeous legs, that magical smile, that musical laugh. Oh, it was going to be a good vacation.

With a quiet chuckle, he climbed the stairs to the villa, noticing the first of many nice touches. Someone had left a few lights on, and a basket of snacks, fruit and wine sat perched on the counter. There were fresh flowers in the bedroom and little candies on each of the pillows of the oversize bed. It was clean, but small signs of neglect were still evident. The windows had been repaired, sort of, and one of the sliders to the patio didn’t work.

He was too tired to do a thorough exam. The next day, he’d take a run on the beach before his meeting with Nick Whitaker and then he’d tear Mar Brisas apart until he found what he came to claim.